#if i wanted to gnaw on electrical wires before

[frnkiebby]

his fucking stupid expressive face~🎃

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: All the buildup, all the teasing, finally leads to this: Simon is back and ready to act on all those filthy things you two had been teasing each other with. Will you make it home before you both explode? Or will the car have to do to break the tension?

Word Count: 5.1 k

Warnings:

Part 2:

Unsteady hands gripped hard into the steering wheel, knuckles white as you tightly held on while headed straight to the military base. Your heart pounding furiously inside your chest, breath quick and short the closer you got, it was nearly impossible to keep your eyes focused on the road. Christ were you gnawing at the bit to get there and once again see that beast of a man, the one keeping you begging for release for the past three months.

Those breathtaking bits of personalized porn you two had sent each other had done nothing other than made that inconvenient ache into a raging monster that could not be quenched. Hours spent furiously working yourselves, silently begging for a little ease in the constant throbbing had gotten nowhere except to drain the battery life on your phones from the constant re-watching of videos.

…though that last photo he sent you of his abdomen covered in his milky white cum after having watched your little romp into amateur pornography had left you feeling on top of the world for a couple days.

And just as you were on that last leg of desperation, finally the light at the end of the tunnel that led up to you driving where you were today. It had been exactly one week from when you got the text you had been waiting on from Simon:

“I’m coming home, baby. Fucking finally; Christ I thought I was going to rub myself raw. Best not wear anything you want to remain intact, you hear me? Cause the minute I get my paws on you, that's it.”

Thank fuck, the suffering was almost over.

That entire week seemed to drag on endlessly, each day crawling through at a snails pace, but here you were now only a few more minutes away from your destination. Even as you checked in at the entrance to the base, antsy and squirming in the seat of your car, you couldn’t believe that you had actually made it.

You took Simon’s message to heart when you got ready that morning, choosing a simple, flowy dress that he could literally shred off of you and you wouldn’t give a shit. It was just long enough that it could easily conceal the fact that you had done away with the panties today, opting for ease of access over anything else, but low cut enough in the front that he could get a nice eyeful of your full chest; you had no idea what would happen the moment you saw each other again and you weren’t taking any chances.

This reunion was bound to be explosive after all the visual edging you two had been doing lately and having to waste even a second more of time before your bodies could be joined felt like a crime.

You walked through the base, heartbeat rapidly increasing with each step as you got closer to where you knew you'd find that hulking Lieutenant hanging around.

And then you turned a corner and there he was like a specter brought back to life, standing idly beside the outside wall smoking as he watched the privates of his troop find their families and suddenly the wind was knocked from you.

“Simon,” you called out to him and he turned to face you.

That instant connection of your eyes felt like a shock from a live wire; Simon could feel the electricity run through his veins and tingle its way up his spine until the first prickles of sweat dotted across his body as his cigarette slipped from his fingers. It felt like he couldn’t breathe and the closer you got the worse it became; you knew what you were doing wearing that pretty little dress.

Fuck did he want to take a bite of those thick thighs he could see just under the hem that popped out every time you took a step and if his hands didn’t get their fill of your breast spilling out of his grip soon, he might just keel over and die. You were more than tempting, you were a feast sent to make him completely lose his goddamn mind.

His entire body was sent into shock as that ache that he had tried to keep from ripping him apart all day as he waited for your arrival overtook him until his balls pulsed and he had to adjust himself or get caught sporting a stiffy that would instantly tent the crotch of his pants and make it even more painfully obvious to any curious eyes just how gone he fucking was.

Coming to a stop you stood before him, your stomach doing back flips as you struggled to form words that weren’t just pleas for him to just rip the waistband of his pants down and take you right then.

“Hey you,” you said through unsteady breaths, trying to keep calm. “Long time no see, huh?”

Simon nodded. “Too fuckin’ long sweetheart. Ya look...” he had to clear his throat, “incredible.” He had to keep it short, there were still too many people about and even his words would cause him to lose composure.

“Well, it is a special occasion after all,” you chuckled. “Got to remind you what you leave behind every time you go.”

The need to take your hand and give it squeeze, that customary greeting that you both did when in public, made him hesitate. If he touched you right now, any bare part that met skin with skin, he may not be able to stop, not once those weathered and brutish fingers got their fill of all that sweet softness. There as still a little time left that he had to be there and the agony was already eating away at him.

“Believe me, I fuckin’ know,” he said as he shot you a look; I’ve been in hell waitin’ to get back to it, it whispered to you.

Taking a few calming breaths, he risked lacing his broad fingers in between the empty spaces in your own. Simon could feel the rapid thump, thump, thump, of your pulse against his palm; good, you were just as excited for this reunion as he was.

Somehow that made it a bit easier, knowing that the feeling was mutual.

“Can we go?” you asked eagerly, hopeful that you were closer to the end of your joint suffering sooner rather than later.

Simon stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. “Gotta be here just a bit longer,” he muttered dejectedly under his breath. “God, I want ya so bad I can’t see straight.”

You squeezed his hand back. “It’ll go fast,” you assured. “And…I mean… no one’s looking this way if you wanted to touch me a little more. Maybe you’ll find something you’ll like.”

It was dangerous, but he took a chance with even more touch as he released your hand and loosely wrapped his arm around your waist, bring you in to him until your hips were touching. You were warm against him, warmer than the day would suggest, and the curve of your hip that he ran his fingers over delicately to retrace the lines he had dreamed about felt even better than he remembered.

Silently you peaked over at his face, watching as his head faced firmly forward to watch for any prying eyes, but it was clear he hadn’t noticed it yet. Not wanting to spoil the surprise, you kept quiet; he’d figure it out eventually. Those exploring fingers were beginning to stray more towards the back of you to the small dip at the base of your spine.

…and then lower still…

That’s when you felt it; he risked a lingering stroke over the contour of your ass when he noticed it. Where was that distinct seam of your panty line? He had grabbed your backside so many times over the course of your relationship that he knew the feeling of what should have been there. Quickly he ran his hand over the area again and still the same, there was nothing. Christ, you’d really prepared for today, hadn’t you?

Good fuckin’ girl.

His chest began to grow tight with his quickened breathing… along with that engorged appendage down below. He was in fucking trouble now; would he even be able to make it to the car at this point? The moan that desperately tried to escape through his throat he swallowed down, but who knows how long it would stay.

He was in the thick of it now.

Simon leaned down to rest his face against the side of your head, his warm breath still able to be felt against your ear even through the mask. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart, no panties?” he whispered intrigued. “Christ, how the fuck am I supposed to hang on now?”

You smirked, trying to pick even though you were falling apart at the seams, a wetness gathering between your thighs as you pressed them together. “You complaining? Cause I can head back home and put some on real quick if you want.”

A harsh squeeze along the underside of your ass cheek made you gasp before he removed his hand and gave you your answer. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he warned, a playfully lilt to his tone. “That sweet little pussy is about to be filled and I don’t wanna waste a goddamn second havin’ to rip those fuckin’ things off ya.”

Dear God he was about to fuckin’ explode, say screw it and pin you up against the nearest wall right in front of the entire goddamn squad to plow into your tight, wet cunt with months worth of unrequited need that had built up to this monster of desire churning away inside of him. His teeth bit at the skin of his lower lip, his fists clenching and unclenching as he failed to calm himself while he again checked the time.

The moment that those amber eyes watched the second hand on his watch hit and the minutes change to the millisecond he could be released, his oversized mitt wrapped around your wrist, securing it in his harsh grasp, and quickly he began making his way to your car with you being dragged alongside.

“Where the hell are ya parked?” he questioned in a huff, that gruff voice nothing more than a growl, and you pointed towards the back of the lot in the corner.

You could barely keep up with his intense pace, nearly tripping over your own feet several times to match his long strides. It didn’t help that your heart was pounding furiously, nearly beating out of your chest the closer you got to being in a tight, secluded spot with him; could you even make it back to his apartment?

All signs were pointing to not a fucking chance.

Simon only released you so that you could both get inside, separating at the tail of the vehicle with you headed towards the driver side and him the other. The slam from the car door rung through the interior of the vehicle and before you could even insert the key into the ignition, Simon had moved in silent as a specter to place his large palm against the side of your cheek. The endless ache he had endured over the past months apart had been unbearable as you both edged each other to the brink of insanity and now that he was so close to you again it felt like he was in a dream.

The tension that suddenly filled the car was overwhelmingly electric as Simon closed what little distance there still sat between you both, his hand moving to the back of your head. Those bulky, calloused fingers that had missed having any part of you against them laced themselves through your hair with harsh abandon, pulling your face closer.

He held your head steady and pointedly at his face so that you had to stare into his intense, unwavering gaze; it made your skin tingle with anticipation of what was on the horizon and barreling down fast. Those sparkling brown eyes drew you in to hold your own captive as he drug his thick thumb across the length of your bottom lip as if to test that all this was actually real. His entire hand palmed the back of your head which left you completely at his mercy, not that you were complaining.

After all, you needed him just as badly.

Without warning he wrenched the bottom hem of his balaclava up over the top of his head and off his face before his mouth crashed violently against your own, hungry and greedy to steal kiss after fiery kiss from those soft, supple lips he had been eyeing with a burning desire to ruin since the minute he saw you again. Desperately his tongue parted your lips as he plunged it inside your mouth to reclaim it.

God it felt euphoric to finally be given the very thing you had been aching for for months, feeling as if your body had pined for his for an eternity, as it was finally released from it’s torture. And by the way his tongue was nearly shoved down the back of your throat you knew Simon felt that same kind of relief and it only spurred him on further.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your parted lips, nothing but hot, sticky breath being shared. “Ugh…fuck, baby, I’ve missed you so goddamn much I thought I was gonna fuckin’ die before I could feel ya again.”

Crawling over the small console in the center between the car seats, Simon shoved his body weight into you, making your smaller frame slam against the driver-side door. The raised panelling along the inside dug roughly into the muscles of your back as the backside of your head was shoved harshly into the glass of the window. There was no pause in his assault of your mouth until your lips began to burn from the constant contact and yet even the pain still felt like heaven.

He tasted so strongly of tobacco from the chain of cigarettes he must have smoked to calm his nerves until you arrived, but even through the distinct flavor you still drank every last drop of him down like you would cease to function without him.

Those thick digits of his free hand eagerly pawed at your supple thighs until he was able to divide them so that his hand could slip in between. There was a damp heat gathered near your unclothed sex and it only made him more wild to feel it. His palm cupped around your entire mound and you whimpered directly into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he hissed one of the only words he could recall in that moment as the damp heat filled his palm. “All for me?”

Words, what the hell were they again? You couldn’t remember how speech worked as you were far too busy try to simply breathe through the conquering of your body by him. All you could do was mewl like a kitten as he massaged the petals of your cunt before taking his middle finger and slipping it between them. Your back arched in a jolt as he ran one finger along the length of your cunt, mouth falling agape as Simon gathered as much of your juices on his finger as he could.

Even this small amount of contact already had you dripping and coming apart at the seams; it had been so long since you had felt that familiar touch and pressure against your clit, the one that only he could provide.

Simon couldn’t help himself once he got his first real feel again of how soft and slick you were, goddamn it had been too long that he’d only been able to play with himself, and greedily he drew upon your clit in concise circles with the pad of his rough finger. There was a second where he tried to remain calm, to take his time drawing out your pleasure as he would normally do, but as your back arched and your breathy music filled the silence of the car, he could not hold off from unleashing weeks of pent up need onto you.

Removing his lips from your own, he moved down to the soft skin of your neck with teeth ready to leave the flesh marked with his seal. It burned him alive with desire at the thought that he would be able to see your pretty skin marred by him, that everyone who came in to contact with you in the coming days after today would see it too.

You could not stop the way your body writhed and squirmed as his finger collected a friend to join it and spread your entrance open so they could both slide inside. The heightened tension of the moment with the man you had yearned for only made you more sensitive and the way his fingers filled your tight, aching hole after it had been left empty for too long thrilled you. As natural as breathing, your hips ground down on his fingers, using them as your own living dildo.

God, he wanted nothing more than for you to ride his cock as well as you rode his fingers just now and send him straight to hell. Shit, he couldn’t catch his breath, his need was just too much. “That’s it. Use me; make my fingers yours.”

Both of your hands moved to behind your head and onto the window; you needed more leverage to ground onto him harder, as hard as you could. Nothing compared to him, not your own fingers, not a toy; you could not stop yourself. You could feel the condensation already gathering on the glass as you moved and you had to wipe it away so that you could get better purchase on the surface so you wouldn’t slide.

There was nothing that was going to ruin this.

“Oh god, baby,” you squeaked out as that overwhelming deep warmth of your release gathered in your abdomen.

The corners of his mouth upturned against your neck at the sound of you falling apart because of him. Images conquered in his mind about your moans and cries reaching outside the car so that anyone who walked by would hear them before they caught a glimpse of the show. Why wouldn’t he want to show you off like this? You looked so fucking beautiful falling apart to his ferocity.

Just the way your muscles strained and your cries became more pathetic, Simon knew you were close. “Are ya gonna come for me already, pretty girl?” his gruff voice purred against your collar bone. “Come on then, give it to me. Clench down on my fingers. Let me feel it.”

Pumping his fingers in and out of you, keeping the pace as steady as he could, he felt those velvety walls flutter around his digits as he rocked his upper body with you to simulate the movements he’d soon be doing when he was really inside you. The air was so thick with moisture it almost felt hard to breathe right, the windows filmed with the stuff as with a few more strokes at your clit you came hard and fast, shaking as he continued to work you until ever single ounce of your orgasm had been spent.

Simon was gone then, replaced by a feral beast fueled by his ability to make you come… and wanting to do it again, but this time with his cock.

He pulled those thick fingers out of you, glistening with the wetness of your cum and brought them to his lips. You watched wide eyed as he stuck them in his mouth and licked them good and clean; goddamn you tasted just as delicious as he remembered. Could you blame the man? You had kept him starving since your video popped up on his phone and he had to get a bit of it all.

“I need more of ya,” he groaned in whispers as he leaned back into you, desperate hands pawing at your breast still sadly inside your dress as he kissed you again, now with the taste of you on his breath.

“We need to move, someone’s bound to come see what all the noise is about,” you said, able to think a little more clearly now that you had come once, but Simon was still gone and there was only one thing that would bring him back.

“Don’t care, can’t wait. Get in the back. Now.”

The primal growl in his gruff voice was enough to make you comply without another word; once was not enough anyway, not after how you had suffered. You needed to be filled with more than his fingers. With a nod you immediately began climbing over the cushions towards the backseat of the car as he got out and moved into the back with you. You leaned back into the front long enough to shove the seats forward all the way to give you more space.

Simon needed room to work.

Scooting over, he planted himself directly in the middle of the back seat and pulled you over top of his lap to straddle him, shins digging into the edge of the cushion. Shit, he as so hard you couldn’t properly sit over top of him without leaving a wet spot right where his cock tented the fabric.

Clothes could be washed, as if he would care at all if anything got on him right now. Pushing your hips down, he made you grind your overstimulated clit hard on that throbbing shaft and you mewled into his face. A devilish grin spread from ear to ear as he rocked your hips to dry hump him.

“Someone ‘ere begged to be bred and that’s what she’s gonna fuckin’ get,” he hissed, sucking in the air harshly between his teeth at the feeling of you on top of him. “Can’t take it back now, luv. I have been fuckin’ dreamin’ of doin’ this, ever since you sent me that goddamn video and I ‘eard you say those sweet fuckin’ words. Been fuckin’ gnawin’ at the bit to stuff you full.”

Taking both of his hands, he pulled at the low neckline of your dress until your breasts came spilling out of the top. Angling his face in, he placed his nose right between the two to suffocate himself within them. There was a hint of your perfume still lingering there, that scent he had bought you for your birthday last year, the one that occasionally lingered on his clothes and had done for the first couple weeks of his mission.

The flesh was so enticing that he sucked in the supple top of one breast before he bit down, not enough to break the skin, but enough that it would definitely leave a nice red outline of his teeth; more signaturea that you could both admire.

“Simon,” you moaned his name.

Your own hands roamed up under his shirt, pushing the fabric up until you reached his chest and you could run your hands over the sparse bit of hair you adored; it would be so nice to get to nuzzle against it again. As your fingers ran between his pectorals you could feel the moment his breath hitched.

“Please, Simon,” you begged. “I need it.”

Those breasts he would get back to later, your words brought him back and his need to fuck you senseless slammed into him full force.

Rushed, he laid you back over the console between the seats as he sat up and forward, undoing his belt before ripping his pants down enough that he could pull his cock out of his boxers. The angle was slightly awkward, but as he aligned the leaking head of his phallus with your entrance and gave that first thrust to fully enter you, everything else fell away.

“Oh fuck…fuck… oh fuck,” that deep agonized whimper echoed through the car as Simon’s hands bore down his grip on the top of the seat cushions. “Goddammit, luv…s-shit…ah…”

Nothing, absolutely nothing in this fucking world could ever compare to the way your body felt wrapped around his cock: how silky and warm and tight it was. There was no way with his limited brain function could he accurately describe how mind-numblingly amazing it was to be inside you again. Those restless nights where he just couldn’t seem to stay satisfied, the pictures and video that made it worse, the dreams that woke him to stained boxers, it was all undone in that moment as your soft walls held him snugly.

Your head flew back over the lip of the console as he filled you completely to the hilt, stretching you out to your limit. It was almost too much after so much time apart, but goddamn was it exactly as you had wanted. You swallowed the saliva gathering in your mouth, wanting to say the words you had first brought to life in your video, but in person this time.

“Breed me, please Simon. I need you to fucking breed me.”

Never had a more beautiful sentence ever been spoken to him in all his years than to hear your desperate and depraved voice telling him to claim you in the most ultimate way; it was even more beautiful in person than it was that first time he heard it. His fingernails nearly tore holes in the seat as gripped with all this strength to stop himself from coming too fast from all the excitement.

The car began to shake forward and back as Simon snapped his hips into you with a feverish intensity. Even within the first few minutes he was already pussy drunk, slamming into you with a feral roughness that left his rhythm scattered for a bit as his brain only had one objective now: to come.

Your legs were absolutely burning and shaking from the intensity as you had to spread them wide so that he could fit in between, but it didn’t matter; you would have done anything to have him reclaim your cunt as his own again.

The scent of sex was heavy in the air of that enclosed space, the wet slapping sounds of two bodies connecting in that most erotic way keeping the beat.

Yet there was still one more thing he wanted, one more thing that he had been daydreaming about all by his lonesome. Even in this cramped space, he was determined to make it happen- for both of you. His hands were on your legs and before you knew what was happening, he had pulled out of you so that he could situate your calves up on his broad shoulders.

As he thrust back in, the new position helped him reach even deeper until he completely bottomed out. Goddamn it was like you could feel him in your stomach, so full with him that you were completely one being.

“F-fuck…” you stammered out the cry, choking on your words as you writhed uncontrollably. It was almost too much.

“There ya go baby,” he groaned as he started rocking his hips again, unable to contain himself at this consuming euphoria. “Gotta make good on my fuckin’ promise.”

He took you even rougher now, gripping into your hips hard enough to leave purple fingerprints where his hands rested as he pounded into you furiously, your body contorted and at his mercy. The windows of the car were completely fogged over now, the condensation not letting any clear visuals in or out as the axel squeaked with the force of Simon’s thrusts. The console you were still laid on scraped across your back to make it burn as your body was rocked, but the angle was so perfect that the stimulation made your brain blank to anything that wasn’t your second release creeping up on you quick.

There were no more words that could be said as you both devolved into beings hell bent on pleasure alone, just the depraved sounds of grunting and moans filling up the interior to capacity; that growing warmth in your belly nearly reaching its peak

Goddammit, he was closer than he thought due to all the pent up desire he'd been unable to sait for weeks, but he had to be sure you were almost there again too. "Are ya close?" he asked as more of a plea than a question, hips snapping desperately with a shudder as he was losing the battle to his orgasm.

"Yes," you groaned back. "Don't stop, please."

He closed his eyes tight, working to stay from blowing until he felt your thighs twitch and clamp down around him, keeping him locked in. A few more sloppy thrusts slipping through the cum covering your cunt, a few more bumps against your swollen clit, and that was it. The warmth shot through your limbs, coursing like electricity as you came once more.

"Yes, yes, yes!" you cried out and finally he let go and fuck did he come with a roar that stung your ears.

Simon's body convulsed, the muscles in his abdomen tensing and straining as he released weeks and weeks of need. You took it all riding out your orgasms in tandem until you both lay still a moment, simply breathing after such an explosive ending.

He moved back into the seat exhausted, pulling your body along with him as you stayed connected. Lightly he pushed up your dress to press his raw lips to your stomach to kiss down the lower half of your body. Each embrace was another silent praise he gave while he took deep breaths through the high of his ecstasy until his rapidly pounding slowed and he could final re-wet his dry mouth to speak.

“Fuck, I think we both needed that one,” he said against your skin, his warm breath wafting over the fine spread of moisture along your torso, making you tingle as he kept his cock buried inside. “Ya did so good for me sweetheart.”

You reached a hand out to him and he helped you to sit up and into his lap. Wrapping your arm around his neck you pulled him into a deep kiss, letting your mouths linger together with eyes closed for a few moments as you both finished coming down.

“I’m glad your back,” you whispered as your lips parted.

He cupped your cheek with his palm, staring back into your eyes as he smiled. “I’m glad to be back too,” he returned. "And I'm gonna make sure that I make up for all that lost time."

Tag list: @sillylittlereader @babygirl-riley @jarfullofjizz @jamieelol

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

just a girl 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible cheating, low self-esteem, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you move in with your sister when your luck turns for the worst.

Characters: Walter Marshall, possible Andy Barber

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

Another day, another disappointment. 

You don't know what you’re doing wrong. You have experience, you just lack a few good references. As much as you tell yourself it isn't your fault your past job ended the way it did, you're doubting even that. 

You try to keep out of the way since your last run-in with your brother-in-law. It might be better to consider him your landlord. You go outside as much as you can when he’s home. Sometimes just to walk and forget, but that’s getting harder to do. 

That day, you need to talk to Andy. It’s intimidating like when you used to ask your father to do anything. With Rhiannon, it was one smile and she got her way, but who can ever say no to her? With you, it was always an interrogation. Why do you want to do that? Who with? As if you were lying or up to no good. 

Your trip to the bank helps you sort your nerves, at least a little bit. You have it all rehearsed in your head. And he can’t be unhappy when you’re doing exactly what he told you too. 

A sigh escapes you as you enter the suburban sprawl. Each flawless facade, each primped and preppy housewife, each giggling child reminds you of your displacement. You tuck your hands into your jean pockets, further discomfited by the blazing sun as your Queens of the Stone Age shirt absorbs the heat. 

You have your wired earbuds in, blasting the new album you’ve been anticipating for a year. You pre-ordered when you still had a full-time income. Another reminder of how low you’ve fallen. Money you would gladly take back as you’re not feeling the electric pop flow. 

As you turn a corner, you flinch and dodge out of the way as a black speck approaches from the other side of the street. You assume it’s some kid chasing an errant soccer ball. To your surprise, it’s someone much bigger than any rambunctious fifth grader. 

It’s him. That man with the curly hair. Like you, he’s in jeans. This heat is unforgiving to denim. He wears a dark shirt on top, a hint of chest hair poking out. You look around and turn to continue on your path. He must be running after someone else. 

He calls your name. You only recall his as he falls into step with you. Walter. Your catch your ear buds as they fall out. 

“Hey, you weren’t at the Crayton barbecue,” he comments, “I was lonely.” 

You look at him from the corner of your eye, hands firmly back in your pockets as you push your shoulders up. 

“I’m not much into those things either but my girl is friends with their girl,” he explains, “was thinking you might be into something more lowkey.” 

“Um,” you squint, mourning your lack of sunglasses, “I don’t think so. I’m working on moving out soon...” 

“Yeah, sure, but not tonight,” he insists. “Chicken burgers only, promise.” 

You glance over at him. He’s taunting you. 

“I didn’t... I wasn’t... my sister told me to--” 

“Oh, so should I ask her if you should come over for a beer?” He challenges. 

“What?” You frown, “beer, I don’t drink.” 

“Got it, I have near beers you can have. Or I’ll have a beer and you can have ginger ale,” he suggests as he puts a hand up, “whatever you like.” 

You mull his invitation. You gnaw on your lip as you near the corner by your sister’s house. He doesn’t let up, in lockstep with you until you reach the gate. You stop with your hand on the white picket. He stands beside you. 

“Sorry but... why?” 

He scoffs, “I like your style. We have similar music taste. I don’t know. Like I said, I’m bored. Not a lot of people around here are into grunge. Even dudes my age prefer Seger to Cobain.” 

You were never a Nirvana cultist. You appreciate them but you prefer Grohl in his second era. You tap your fingertips on the wooden slat and face him. 

“I don’t know,” you utter and peek back at the house. It might be good to get out but this man is a stranger. Still, look at this place. This is the very picture of affluence. Not like he’s asking you back to some dingy alleyway. “I’d hate to trouble you.” 

“Hah,” he puts his hands on his hips, “I’m the one asking. You think I would if it was trouble? Besides, I see through the monochrome, you’re anything but trouble.” 

You can’t help the slant in your lips. Yep. That’s you. Boring. Dull. Like wallpaper. 

“Marshall,” a rocky growl greets from the front porch. You glance over as Andy emerges, in a yellow short-sleeved button up and khakis.  

“Barber,” Walter answers in a flat tone. 

“Need something?” Andy strides down the paved walkway, between the tulips and daisies your sister fawns over. 

“Not from you,” Walter retorts with a smirk, “talking to her.” 

“And why’s that?” 

You sense the tension. You glance between the men as they stare each other down. You shrink between them, trapped at the gate. 

“Her business, not yours,” Walter scoffs, “no client privilege here, bud, now we’re having a chat.” 

“Outside my house?” Andy sneers 

The other man shakes his head and ignores him, turning his back to the fence, “anyway, six-thirty? I’ll come by to get you for that beer.” 

You can’t find your voice to disagree as you’re choked by thick air, the heat turning stolid in their obvious spite for each other. Walter glances over his shoulder nods at Andy before he turns to stride off. You cough and watch him go. 

The gate jolts out of your grasp as Andy pulls it open from the other side. You let go and falter before you step through. You shy away as he stands, a hand on one hip, the other on the gate door. He swings it shut with a snap. 

“You’re hanging out with Marshall?” He asks. 

“He... asked,” you face him, bouncing indecisively on the walk, “er, Andy, actually, I wanted to talk--” 

“You should tell him to fuck off,” Andy interrupts. 

“Oh?” 

“Trust me. I work with the jackass.” 

“You do?” You wonder. 

“Sometimes. At the precinct,” he sniffs and turns to you, “stubborn asshole.” 

“Right, well, I didn’t... I don’t...” 

“Guess I shouldn’t complain if it gets you out of my hair,” he snorts. 

“Andy, er,” you grab your satchel and unzip the top, “I got my unemployment so... here.” You hold out the envelope of bills. It’s all you have left after paying for your most basic expenses, “for groceries and whatever.” 

“And whatever?” He takes the envelope with a skeptical look, “sure.” 

You stand in silence. You thought he’d have a different reaction. Maybe not elated but maybe a thanks? You don’t know. He hates you, just like everyone else. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I... I don’t want to be in the way.” 

“You should’ve told her no. Rhiannon... she’s too nice for her own good. Even to her family and you all just walk all over her.” 

You furrow your brow, “I don’t... I wouldn’t--” 

“Save it,” he rolls his eyes and slips the envelope into his pocket, “that’ll do for one month, but you’ve been here two.” 

“Uh, yeah,” you quaver, breathless. Not good enough. Never good enough. 

“You know, acting pathetic, it’s not endearing. Maybe to Rhi, but not me.” 

“I’m sorry--” 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he taunts, “alright, noted. Have fun with Marshall.” He snickers, “bit of advice, don’t put out after one beer, try to make him work for it. Hell, maybe if he does, you could learn a lesson or two about work.” 

Your eyes sting and you swallow tightly. You turn to step past him and he blocks you with his arm. You back up and look him in the face. Unlike Rhiannon, you can do that. She always looks ridiculous next to him. 

“Or maybe, if you can get some money out of it...” he looks you up and down and you hug yourself defensively. “Ah, nah,” his eyes drift past you, towards the street, “I know that bastard. He’s just tryna get to me.” He laughs darkly and shakes his head, “too bad I don’t give a shit.” He turns his glare back on you, “do me a favour, stay a bit later. I’d like some privacy with my wife.” 

You drop your eyes meekly and nod, “yeah, I’ll try. Sorry, again.” 

He inhales and lets it out heavy. He slowly moves out of your way, “it’s weird,” he says as you move past him, “sometimes, you actually do look like her sister,” he comments as your pace picks up, “like her but not pretty.” 

You continue inside without a response. You don’t know why he has to take it there. Why he can’t just take his win and be happy? Or at least content.

You remember before the wedding, when he found you, told you to stay in the back for photos. You apologised then too, even if he was being mean. It doesn’t matter, you’re always wrong. 

[freakingwizards]

We have squirrels in our attic. Although they were just vaguely annoying at first they recently escalated into a hazard. About a month ago I went to turn on my bathroom lights but they flickered ominously and went out instead. Someone peeled back the insulation in the attic and confirmed that the squirrels had started gnawing on the wires. So someone needed to get the squirrels out of the attic. I decided it would be me.

I trapped the first two squirrels in about a week. Those first two were surprisingly easy. I used a humane catch-and-release trap which I baited with peanut butter and nuts. I spread the peanut butter on the trigger that needs to be pushed down to set the trap off. The idea was that the squirrels would try to lick or scrape of the peanut butter on the trigger, which would spring the trap. In that first week, when I caught two squirrels in just a few days, I was pretty pleased with myself.

But there's one more up there. For a month, every night, I check the trap after supper, then lie awake in my bed while I listen to it chewing. It scratches at my walls like it's trying to break through them. And not only has it evaded capture, but it hasn't even taken a single nut from the trap.

I think I know why. The morning after the night I set the trap the first time, after my bathroom lights stopped working but before I figured out the trick with the peanut butter, I found the trap triggered, but with nothing trapped inside it. I think that the squirrel that's still in the attic set off the trap without being trapped. Which would mean that the squirrel knows the trap is a trap. Which is a problem because how do I trap a squirrel in a trap when the squirrel knows it's a trap?

Enter fruit loops.

Someone once told me that fruit loops are like cocaine for rats. If you have a rat problem, you start by feeding them fruit loops. They'll get hooked. Then, you start leaving the fruit loops out in the open (the center of your driveway, your lawn, the sidewalk). Rats normally avoid open spaces like this sense it makes them easy prey for things like owls, but if they're hooked on the fruit loops, they'll willingly go into the open to eat them. Then (the theory goes) the neighborhood owls will find the rat buffet you have prepared for them and take care of things for you.

I figure the same principle applies to squirrels and squirrel traps. If I get the squirrel hooked on fruit loops, and then I bait the trap with fruit loops, it won't matter if the squirrel knows about the trap. If the squirrel wants fruit loops more than it fears death, the natural course of action will be to knowingly walk into the trap and eat fruit loops.

I'm just not sure how I feel about feeding the squirrels that are chewing the electrical wires rat cocaine.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

My Re-Watch of Ghosts, Part 5

One last note, back to Carol as a chameleon. She is a chameleon, and I think she is in part chasing that rat in Diverged because the rat is, at least in part, representative of her. It exists in the walls, liminal spaces. It comes out, causes mayhem, then retreats. It’s not a coincidence the rat is in Daryl’s walls, as she does this to him most of all.

But I also think that the rat could represent Beth, because it also represents a hidden problem, something that lives in the walls and gnaws at your electrical wires, and you have no idea until suddenly one day the lights don’t come on. Beth is the rat scratching at the walls in Carol’s subconscious. This, too, is why we’re in Daryl’s house when this happens, because Beth is Daryl’s girl.

And I think that Carol and Beth, because of their unique connection in the coda, as not really being a part of the main timeline, and as the only two characters who are actually integrated into the Grady/CRM timeline, are uniquely connected to each other (and also to Rick, but not till later).

As I said before, I think you’re right, @twdmusicboxmystery, that Carol could be the one to find Beth, because she knows more than she realizes. She saw something at Grady that she possibly hasn’t accessed yet, due to trauma, memory loss, etc. She may have even received experimental treatment. We don’t know. But I think that as the unstuck character, she is the only one who could enter into Beth’s storyline and find her, because she inhabits these liminal spaces. But also like you said, because of who she is, and because of mistakes she’s made in the past, people, including Daryl, may not believe her.

When Jadis rescues Rick, she calls him a “B.” He’s then carried away by that helicopter. This is when he exits the A timeline and enters the B timeline. What ensues on the A timeline is then very chaotic and full of loss and change because it was supposed to be Rick’s, but he’s not there anymore. They have to find their way out. It’s just like, past its expiration date. All of them need to open their eyes and discover the CRM threat and in doing so learn or realize what the hell was actually going on all those years back in Atlanta and at Grady.

@twdmusicboxmystery

Love all of your thoughts! You have so many great connections and insights here. I hadn't thought to connect "I have eyes" to the blind theme. Or RJ sleeping and Judith's line to the resting theme. And all your insights on Carol are spot on! Love it!

@wdway:

This is absolutely wonderful. You gave me a lot to think about. And I've always had a hard time with Carol and how people are so blind to her misdeeds. You explained her character so well. It's like the analogy of the water glass So many people either see the glass half full or the glass half empty but the simple fact is it's half a glass of water.

You explain that with Carol she is right but her actions so many times are wrong. While I was reading as usual things kept popping in my head with a thought that I would mention them at the end but as usual when I got to the end I couldn't think of what I wanted to say. I will probably reread this later and come back tonight with some comments. I actually have a play date today!

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Oh, I meant to add something about the clove cigarette. That’s a great catch. I don’t think I ever would have noticed it. But it made me think of the cinnamon Daryl finds in the golf club and we see them both chewing on. I know cloves don’t = cinnamon, but I read up on clove cigarettes and they often have cinnamon and other spices in them. The two spices are also often used together or interchangeably.

Anyway, I don’t even have a super specific theory, other than it’s indicative of something about Beth. I’m the scene where he’s smoking it, as mentioned above, Carol is also wearing the pink bandage on her arm. So to me, the most obvious interpretation is simply that this “do you believe me” stuff between Carol and Daryl applies to Beth in some way.

@galadrieljones:

I totally see the connection. I totally saw a cinnamon stick which made me think of Still. And the fact it’s a clove cigarette is extremely notable because Daryl never smokes those. In fact like I said, after he comes back from the sanctuary he rarely smokes, tbh. It’s notable in Rendition when Pope asks him if he smokes because it seems like he hasn’t smoked in a while.

Cigarettes are showed as this commodity because Dwight has them. I just figured Negan’s guys took them during the raid, and then Daryl ran out. This makes me think about Pope and his lovely hand rolled cigarettes in his lovely leather case. I wonder where he got the tobacco? Not like it’s super hard to grow but when you’re busy raiding and pillaging it’s probably pretty hard to cultivate a tobacco crop.

Cinnamon is also an exotic ingredient which makes me think of the CRM. Daryl finds an old canister of cinnamon sticks at Pine Vista but if you wanted to actually have cinnamon you’d need to cultivate and probably import it from Asia, like Sri Lanka or Vietnam.

[promiseiwillwrite]

In the car the other day

I had apologized for something small, that didn't warrant an apology. something to do with timing and manners. I think I had done some things in a super illogical and completely inefficient manner on the way to the car, and it had taken a little longer than I wanted. My ability to plan steps, even simple ones can go out the window when I have stress.

But if you've been following along, you know that I have been going through some things.

He said, "You should maybe stop making reasons to feel bad."

Ooooh. And it was good advice. Too bad that is Literally impossible.

Today I learned about cognitive dissonance on Hidden Brain, from the Psychologist that Coined the Phrase.

There's a process of justification humans are wired to go through when they make decisions, especially moral ones, that we use to feel better about what actions we take, and the things we have decided.

When I first heard the notion of Moral OCD, I looked left and looked right and knew that all the angels in heaven were looking pointedly at me.

Which is funny if you know about the witchy stuff, and being raised in the bible belt, and all that.

But it's my fiercest, most prevalent, most disruptive symptom set, that colors my every day experience and occupies my mind for multiple hours each day.

I spend that time questioning whether or not I am bad. Whether or not a thought or decision is bad, or bad for me, or bad for the people around me. Whether or not my own motivations are questionable.

Sometimes I see it before I spiral. Sometimes I do not. Sometimes seeing it and catching it is not enough, especially when my justifications are insufficient given my moral models.

And my moral models keep falling apart in my hands. It is terrifying.

I have made a lot of progress, because I keep breaking the justifications on purpose.

But some things are Ambiguous. There's no right answer in my models that doesn't paint me into the "and the last step is where I suffer in silence and never speak of it again". which is literally the end goal in the maze my abusers decided was the best place to put me over and over.

And I literally speak of that shit ALL the fucking time here, in my little swamp, where no one gives a shit. I can play patty cake at my pity party all day if I want.

But my model is changing.

And that End is no longer acceptable.

But when Everything in my mind Leads there, I find myself there anyway, except wailing on the moors.

Trying to gnaw through the wall of the maze.

Knowing that "ME SUFFERING IN SILENCE" is ALSO BAD.

It's just a New kind of bad that is uncomfortable.

My heart and mind cannot refute this.

But they Still give me as Many Justifications As I can swallow to not have to look at this. To avoid Saying the disruptive thing. To avoid doing anything about it.

I say "NO." to myself a lot.

In that manner you use to address a partially trained dog that is Thinking about getting up on the couch again, after having been repeatedly told Not to get up on the couch. And you are watching them, And they are watching you watch them, And They know you no, and will say no if they try, but they Really want to do it anyway. And they know it makes them Bad, even if they DIDN'T get on the couch. (but they won't get swatted for it.) So I am both the unscolded, resentful puppy that thinks mom is mean and not fair, and also the angry mean mom that has to reinforce the boundary over and over to the point where you wonder if it's even worth it.

I guess that's really the goal forever. It's fine as long as I am bad. Then it doesn't matter whether or not I suffer, whether or not I have needs met, or get what I want.

Except now, there is no comforting resignation that used to come when I just accepted the suffering and the silence. There's only this chicken with it's head off prod of electricity from my fucking super-ego telling me that I Don't get to be bad, because being Bad is now not acceptable!

Fuck this brain. It is so mean.

[vespertine-legacy]

Even though my laptop is currently more just a potato with wires poking through it (and prayers more than electricity keeping it running some days), I was able to join a small group to fight the Kithrawl, presumably a world boss on Ruhnuk? It’s a giant Tineback with 30 million health, and when I heard some people saying “you can just solo the world boss with your companion,” I wasn’t really sure if they meant him or the Wraid one that you have to find shit to summon it first.

Anyway, I had previously tried to solo it, and I got him to about 90% health before dying, about half of that completely on my own, because my companion died to Stood In Stupid.

But while I was doing dailies on Chatelaine, someone asked if anyone wanted to group up for it, and we managed to get six people for it. An assassin, a handful of mercs, a sorc, and an operative. We walked into the cave and someone asks “lol do we has heals?” The sorc said they’d swap real quick. The assassin said 3-2-1 go and yeeted themself at the lizard. Because we had no tank, my opener pulled threat, but thankfully the sorc was good to me with the heals.

For any not wanting to walk into this fight blind, here’s some of what I remember (if you haven’t fought the Kithrawl yet and would like to just be surprised by it, just skip past all this).

The first part of the fight is pretty spanky and boring. He does a cast called Eruption, and a bunch of red circles show up on the floor. You have a few seconds to move out of the circles before they erupt into lava and Hurt you. Then he does a cast called Seismic Smash (? Idk if that is actually the name and I’m too lazy to look it up). A big red circle shows up around him, and when a smaller circle in side that one grows to the size of the big circle, he smashes the ground and does a knock back on anyone inside the circle (damn, it feels good to be a gangster an rdps on this fight I’ll bet). He also does a move called Tail Whip (? Again, I’m not 100% on the name, I kept thinking his attacks sounded like Pokémon moves…), which is a conal behind him as the name suggests. His attacks did seem to mostly be reflectable/shieldable.

I don’t remember what percentage of his health it was that things got Spicy™️, but at some point, he does a move called Chomp. Now I imagine that the tank is supposed to take Chomp. Because during Chomp, you get knocked down, stunned, and have a stacking painful debuff applied to you for ten seconds while the Kithrawl gnaws on you. If you are quick enough, you can throw up a reflect/shield right before it happens, but Chatelaine took almost all of the Chomps, and her health was way too low going into one of them, and she biffed it. The sorc was very quick to get me revived though, and the assassin apparently did not like being the Kithrawl’s chew toy while I was dead. But we managed to kill it, and I think folks had fun.

[edenfelled]

the debt that i owe … ( from noctis to lightning

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐄, fluorescent luminance flickering frantically like a moth's wings spasming beneath the first flood of electricity. It was a cruel reminder she'd need to return to Lestallum if they failed, weaving through the accursed night where cracks in the road were fissures for daemons to grow, bearing the hopes of a dozen souls brave enough to breach the heart of darkness.

Or to atone for their suffering.

Debt was a funny thing: a voracious, gnawing hunger oft disguised as altruistic. The first time they met she didn't recognise it, and willfully allowed its jaws to wrap around her tender heart like the first press of a blade against in her palm — needle-thin, so sharp that it was barely felt. ❝The Crownsguard is the highest honour,❞ Cor explained, watching the orphan's face grow stalwart. She made herself believe that was what she craved ( the ability to be trained, to protect and to defend; to provide for her sister with something purposeful ), and not nightmare-induced insomnia that chased her from her bed — the warped evocation of her parents whose eyes poured Starscourge as they clung misaligned against the ceiling.

❝We shouldn't have to pay debts to gods.❞ It made it all so fucking pointless. The dark, the daemons, their sacrifice in blood — all of it preordained. Luna knew she was dying and communed all the same; Noctis knew he had to die and ordained himself for the altar. All for gods who did not care if they were king, oracle or ordinary man; who shunned, spurred and devoured the light until all that was left came from burning copper encased in rubber wire.

Her fingers turned a teardrop stone of rose quartz, so pale as to be near colourless, while her eyes squinted into the inky darkness beyond the old garage. Serah had gifted it to her before she left the first time, a good luck charm for the Tenebrae princess, but in her death it had come to warm her left pant-pocket as an anchor. Whenever she was away from sister, adrift in a sunless sea, Serah was the one star that brought her back — the one debt she could not afford to make.

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃. Lightning sighed, feeling the tension drawn across her shoulders like a bowstring. How do you repay the willing gift of another's life; of sacrifice and bloodshed? How do you justify it?

Because it was never a debt when given willingly.

❝Let's finish this, @outdraws.❞ She took his wrist with her free hand, and dropped the stone in his palm. He knew she would accompany him, a final hurrah through hell, because she had to see it through. Forget her debts, it was time for the world to be brought to account for what it owed her.

❝When you see Lunafreya, I want you to give her this. And if you see a 'god'? Kill it before I do.❞

[officerwhitmore]

Vincent pressed send, the blue arrow vanishing as his message—‘I wanna see your face’—cemented itself beneath Tony’s last response, unretractable, permanent. Immediately, the weight of it hit him—a knot twisting deep in his gut, tightening with every passing second he stared at the screen. He could feel the risk in his chest, sharp and invasive. Why the hell did he say that? The words had spilled out too easily, like a dare he hadn’t thought through. Tony’s face—that face—in a picture, all to himself? It felt like too much. Too intimate. Too fucking dangerous. But he wanted it anyway. Wanted it so badly that his fingers twitched restlessly against his thigh, his stomach knotting tighter with each breath as the implications clawed at him. What was he even doing?

He chewed on his knuckle, his knee bouncing uncontrollably as he hunched forward, the cushions creaking under his weight. His brain spiraled into jagged, relentless circles, gnawing at the question that refused to leave him alone: Why did he need it? Why did he need Tony’s face so goddamn bad? He’d seen it before, hadn’t he? It wasn’t like he’d forget the sharp line of his jaw, the scruff that was never perfectly even but somehow perfect anyway. Or the curve of Tony’s lips, soft but capable of those crooked, devastating smirks that felt like they’d been designed to break Vince apart. And his eyes—those fucking eyes—so dark they felt bottomless, holding everything and nothing all at once, pulling Vince in like gravity, like they’d been made to consume him. He remembered everything. Every glance, every fleeting expression, every moment when Tony’s guard slipped just enough for Vince to catch something real. He’d been replaying those moments for days, obsessively cataloging them, trying to stitch together a clearer picture of the man who’d torn through his life like a hurricane.

But a picture? A picture would mean keeping Tony, even if it was just pixels on a screen. Something he could look at when the ache in his chest got too sharp, when his thoughts drifted too close to places they shouldn’t. Vince felt the edges of that want searing through him like a brand—hot, reckless, pathetic. He shoved it down hard, desperate to suffocate it before it grew any louder. No. Absolutely not. This wasn’t about want. It wasn’t about need. Thinking that way would spiral him into dangerous territory, into feelings he couldn’t let himself have, into cravings he couldn’t let himself acknowledge. Not now. Not ever.

The soft buzz of his phone shattered the tension, sending a jolt through Vince like a live wire. His heart leapt to his throat as the read receipt appeared: Seen at 6:57 PM. His chest tightened, breath locking in his lungs as his eyes fixated on the notification. Tony was reading his texts. Right now. The thought hit him like a punch, an electric mix of relief and panic crashing over him in waves. He waited, every muscle coiled with anticipation, his world narrowing to the little glowing screen in his hand. The seconds dragged on, each one heavier than the last, until his lungs burned and he was forced to exhale, sharp and shaky, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He stared harder, willing the typing bubbles to appear. They didn’t. The silence from Tony’s end loomed, thick and suffocating. His stomach twisted violently. He wasn’t responding.

The panic came quickly, sharp and unrelenting, ripping through his mind with a thousand frantic questions. Had he gone too far? Had he scared Tony off? Was it the lovey-face emoji in regards to June? Or worse—the heart emoji? Jesus Christ, the heart emoji. Regret lanced through him, swift and punishing. Why the hell had he sent that? Did Tony think it meant something it didn’t? The knot in his stomach twisted tighter as his thoughts tumbled over each other, messy and disjointed, unable to land on anything solid. It wasn’t romantic, was it? It had been a blue heart, not a red one. Blue was neutral, wasn’t it? And Tony knew he liked blue. That had to make it okay. But what if it didn’t? What if Tony overanalyzed it, like some old-school guy trying to decode modern hieroglyphics? That idea was ridiculous, but Vince couldn’t shake it, couldn’t stop the spiral of overthinking that sucked him deeper into its grip. Tony wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t clueless. He knew it was completely platonic. Probably. Hopefully.

The sudden roar of cheers from the Bulls game ripped through his spiraling thoughts like a slap, the abrupt noise jerking him back to the present. He bit down harder on his knuckle than intended, a sharp sting jolting through him. He yelped softly, pulling his hand away and rubbing the sore spot with his thumb, muttering curses under his breath. The distraction was short-lived, though. The silence from Tony crept back in, a weight pressing on his chest, suffocating in its persistence. Tony wasn’t responding. Tony wasn’t responding. Tony wasn’t responding. The thought echoed endlessly, a mantra of dread pounding in his skull. He bit his tongue, the sharp pain grounding him just enough to force his body into motion. He had to move. Sitting here, drowning in his own head, wasn’t an option anymore. If he didn’t do something—anything—he was going to lose his mind.

The kitchen felt cooler, quieter, a stark contrast to the chaos in his head as he opened the pantry and let his eyes drift over its contents. Canned goods lined up in neat rows. A handful of half-heartedly purchased healthy snacks that were already collecting dust. And—fuck—Stella’s seaweed packets. They hit him like a slap, his chest tightening reflexively. He grabbed one of June’s granola bars instead, tearing the wrapper off with more force than necessary before leaning heavily against the counter. The bar was chewy and overly sweet, but the taste barely registered as he scrolled through Reddit with his free hand, the endless stream of election updates doing nothing to ease the churn of his thoughts. November loomed on the horizon like a storm, but Vince didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with it now. He tossed the last bite of the granola bar into his mouth, barely tasting it, and realized too late that he was chewing on his knuckle again. Frustration bubbled up as he yanked his hand away, his breath leaving him in an exasperated huff. He needed to get a grip. But the silence still stretched, and the knot in his stomach didn’t loosen. Not even a little.

He yanked open the freezer, the cold air washing over him in a sharp contrast to the heat simmering beneath his skin. His hand fumbled through frosted packages of microwavable meals—cheap, uninspired, a reflection of his own mediocrity—before landing on something that made his stomach flip. Rita’s Italian popsicle. Cherry. His favorite. He tore the wrapper with a jagged rip, half-hearted and desperate, peeling it back just enough to expose the icy tip. He brought it to his lips and sucked slowly, deliberately, the sweetness bursting across his tongue in a way that should’ve been soothing but wasn’t. The cold slid over his taste buds, sharp and biting, but all it did was stir something deeper, hotter, darker in his gut. For a fleeting moment, he thought it might calm the storm raging in his chest. It didn’t.

The memory struck hard, brutal and unforgiving: the press of Tony’s tip against his lips, the heat of it, the way Tony’s groan had rumbled through him when he sank his mouth down around it—low, raw, and primal. Vince’s chest tightened, his stomach flipping as the phantom sensation of those hands—Tony’s hands—came rushing back. Strong and calloused, gripping his hair and forearm, leaving behind ghost sensations that Vince could still feel, could still crave. The popsicle lingered against his tongue, slick and melting, and suddenly it wasn’t enough. The sweetness only reminded him of Tony’s cock, the way it had filled him whole and pulsed against his tongue, the way it had tasted like skin and salt and everything Vince couldn’t afford to want but needed anyway.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word catching in his throat as heat pooled low and fast, a throbbing ache building with an intensity that stole his breath. He leaned harder against the counter, his head dipping forward as the popsicle threatened to slip from his fingers. The cold sweetness dripped, a bead trailing over his thumb, and he licked it off without thinking, the motion slow and automatic, his chest heaving with the effort to steady himself. His mind betrayed him further, twisting the memory into something darker, sharper—the weight of Tony’s body pressing him against that wall, the strength in his arms caging him in, the raw, relentless heat that burned between them. His teeth scraped against the popsicle, the sensation biting, too close to the edge of pleasure and pain, and he cursed again, a low, breathless sound that barely escaped his lips. ”Fuck, Tony.”

The sharp buzz of his phone cut through the haze like a blade, pulling Vince sharply from his spiraling. The lingering sweetness of cherry coated his tongue, cloying now, too much. His stomach twisted as his eyes darted to the screen, hope flickering briefly before it was snuffed out. It wasn’t Tony. His heart sank like a stone, heavy and cold. It was Stella.

Her name stared back at him, bold and unforgiving, an accusation written in Helvetica. Vince let out a soft huff, the kind that was equal parts frustration and resignation, before unlocking the screen. The text was brief, distant, clinical. Just a response to the question he’d asked earlier about her sister—the one mourning a son and clinging to life in the wreckage of that horrific crash in Chicago. The words should have stirred something in him, some kind of sympathy or sorrow. Instead, all he felt was a muted twinge, like an old wound pressed too lightly to hurt. The real ache, the bitter coil in his chest, came from her tone. Stella had been like this for days—detached, perfunctory, like he was an obligation to tick off a list rather than someone she’d once vowed to love. Vince chewed the inside of his cheek, staring at the screen as his irritation flared. She didn’t even try anymore. But then, he supposed, neither did he.

He forced himself to type a response, his fingers moving faster than his thoughts:

‘Tell her I love her and I’m thinking about her. ❤️’

The heart felt like an afterthought, a band-aid for a wound that was already festering. He sent it anyway, the message disappearing with a soft whoosh that sounded louder than it should have. Vince tossed the phone onto the counter with more force than necessary, leaning heavily against the edge as he dragged a hand through his hair. The silence that followed was deafening. Too much. And then her reaction came, quick and efficient: a thumbs-up emoji. Vince’s lips tightened into a hard line as the pang of hurt hit sharper than he’d expected. A fucking thumbs-up. That was it. That was all she could muster.

His hand trembled slightly as he picked up the phone again, typing out something he wasn’t even sure he meant:

’I love you too, you know. Take care of yourself, okay?’

The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else. He sent them before the doubt could catch up to him, his chest tightening as he stared at the thread. He waited, though he didn’t know what for—some acknowledgment, some warmth, anything to crack the frozen wall between them. But there was nothing. Just the empty space where her reply should be. The hurt twisted deeper, morphing into something uglier, and Vince’s breath hitched as his grip on the phone tightened.

And then it buzzed again. His pulse jumped, the device nearly slipping from his fingers as his heart shot straight into his throat. Tony.

The first message was short. Too short. ‘Thanks!’ Vince’s eyes scanned it once, twice, as if repetition would unearth something he’d missed, but all it did was make his chest ache harder. It shouldn’t have stung. He wasn’t surprised that Tony hadn’t acknowledged his earlier heartfelt comment about last night—what the hell could the man even say? ‘Yeah, I was crushed, thanks for noticing’? ‘Don’t worry, I only cried into my excellent tacos for an hour’? Vince clenched his jaw, frustration blooming hot in his chest—not at Tony, but at himself, at the fact that he cared so damn much. It was pathetic, really, the way a single word could scrape against the raw edges of his heart and make them bleed all over again.

Another message buzzed in: ‘Yeah, suede. Waterproofed too. Should work good. Very warm and heavy in a good way.’ Vince exhaled sharply, his lips twitching into a faint, reluctant smile. He could see Tony in his mind’s eye, meticulously testing every zipper and seam, his brows furrowed in concentration as if picking a jacket was a life-or-death decision—which, in Coldwater, it kinda was. The detail about the waterproofing was practical—so typically Tony—and Vince appreciated it in a way that almost made him laugh. But the last line hit different, settling deep in his chest like a slow-burning ember. ‘Very warm and heavy in a good way.’ Vince’s breath hitched, the words twisting and reshaping in his mind, unbidden and all-consuming. Warm and heavy. He imagined it, Tony’s weight bearing down on him, his broad frame pressing Vince into a mattress, the heat of his skin burning through every barrier between them. Vince’s pulse roared in his ears, his face flushing hot as he clenched his jaw, trying to shake the thought loose. It clung to him anyway, insistent and dangerous, leaving his skin buzzing and his body far too aware of itself.

Then the next text came: The coat doesn’t go on my face, that’s why.’ The words made him chuckle, a quiet, breathy sound that escaped before he could stop it. He could practically see Tony’s expression—half-smirk, half-serious, the way his eyes would crinkle just slightly at the corners when he was teasing. It was so Tony, so effortlessly charming and maddening all at once, that Vince barely registered the line that followed until it landed like a strike to the chest. ‘If you want to see more of my face, that requires seeing me... face-to-face.’ Vince froze, the air punched out of his lungs as his mind struggled to process. Face-to-face. The joke was groan-worthy, sure—Tony even admitted it in his next message—but Vince couldn’t bring himself to roll his eyes or scoff. All he could do was focus on what lay beneath the humor, the invitation threaded through the words.

And then the final message hit like a grenade, shattering any chance of ignoring the truth of it: ‘Anyway… I’m off tomorrow, in case you really were that intent on seeing my face.’ Vince’s heart slammed against his ribs, his pulse erratic as the implication settled in. Tony was inviting him. Tony wanted him to come. He could hear the teasing lilt in Tony’s imagined voice, feel the weight of the suggestion like a hand pressing warm against his chest. The want clawed at him immediately, sharp and unbearable. God, did he want to see Tony. To touch him, to hear that voice in person, to let himself have this, just once. But the thought of it—of being in the same room with him, feeling the heat that always seemed to radiate between them—terrified him to his core.  Ever since that kiss, that heat, Vince had been unraveling. He couldn’t trust himself to keep it together, not with Tony.  And that… that was a risk he wasn’t sure he could take.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, the blank message box taunting him with its endless possibilities. Some lame excuse—he just needed to think of something. Something awkward but believable to deflect Tony’s invitation, to avoid the risk of meeting him face-to-face. The weight of it pressed down hard, crushing him with the knowledge that he didn’t want to do this. God, he didn’t. But he had to. For Stella. For June. For the fragile promise he’d made to himself to salvage the broken pieces of his marriage, no matter how jagged they’d become. His heart thudded heavily as he stared at the screen, willing his fingers to move, to type something—anything—when Stella’s icon flashed at the top. Her response appeared beneath it, stark and dismissive.

‘I know you do, Vincent.’

The words struck like a physical blow, bile rising in his throat as his eyes dragged over them again, and again, and again. His chest tightened, the ache twisting sharper with every second, until his face contorted with a mix of hurt and something uglier. Disgust. Hot, raw, searing through him in a way that made his jaw clench and his pulse roar in his ears. It almost made him want to cry, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead, his thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly as the bitter question echoed in his mind: Why do I even try? Why the fuck did he bother? He wanted to blame her pain—wanted to tell himself that she was grieving, that this was just her way of coping—but the truth sat heavy in his chest, undeniable. Stella didn’t want him. At least not now. And the ache that realization brought was unbearable. It cut into him deeper than he could stand, filling his head with a cold, quiet fury that drowned out reason. Maybe, just maybe, that was all the push he needed. Fuck it, he thought. I’m meeting up with Tony.

The thought settled in his chest, warm and defiant, as he leaned back against the counter. Vince let his mind wander, picturing the logistics. He was staying home from work to watch June while Stella was in Chicago. After dropping her off at school tomorrow, he’d have the day to himself. Maybe he could take Tony to a movie—something casual, low-pressure—or grab coffee and go for a walk. That sounded… perfect. A little coffee and fresh air, nothing serious. But then his thoughts twisted, unbidden, into something more indulgent. He imagined Tony walking beside him, his long, thick legs eating up the snowy sidewalk, the suede of his jacket clinging to his broad shoulders. Snowflakes would land on the rich brown material, melting and rolling off in delicate droplets, and Vince would watch, captivated, as Tony’s deep voice filled the quiet space between them.

His throat tightened, his grip on the popsicle faltering slightly as his thoughts strayed deeper into dangerous territory. Vince realized, distantly, that he was sucking harder on the cold treat now. He’d reached the creamy French vanilla center, the sweetness coating his tongue in a way that made him shudder. His boxers were too tight, his groin aching, heat pooling low in his belly as he bit down softly on the tip of the popsicle. A quiet groan escaped him before he could stop it, the sound low and desperate in the quiet kitchen. His mind, of course, betrayed him immediately. ’Did you groan?’ Tony had teased in his text earlier, the dad joke still fresh in Vince’s memory. Yeah, Vince thought bitterly, his breath hitching as he closed his eyes against the image of Tony’s smirk. I sure fucking did. But not for the reason you’d think.

Vince stared down at the phone screen, his lips tight around the popsicle as he shifted it to one side of his mouth to free up his other hand. He hesitated for only a moment before his thumbs began moving over the keyboard, each word coming easier than the last, as though the decision to text Tony had opened some floodgate inside him. The sharp cold of the popsicle against his tongue grounded him just enough to keep his thoughts from spiraling further.

Aww, look who’s camera shy. Alright, hint taken. But you can’t blame me for wanting a pic of that smile. 😉 Oh, I see what you’re doing here. Alright, lemme give you my professional assessment. 🤓 Pun Quality: ‘Face-to-face’? Textbook dad joke material. Simple, slightly cringe-worthy, just clever enough to work. 9.5/10. Self-Awareness: Bonus points for calling yourself out and acknowledging the groan potential. Real dad joke connoisseurs know the true goal isn’t to be funny—it’s to make people suffer. 10/10. Execution: You went for it, fully committed, no hesitation. Respect. But the delivery was almost TOO smooth, like you’ve been practicing or something. Suspicious, but I'll let it slide… this time. 7.5/10. Overall Appeal: As someone who’s been practicing the art for over a decade, I can confirm this dad joke is cheesy, mildly charming, and borderline infuriating in all the right ways. 9/10. Final score: 9/10. Room for improvement, but honestly? Pretty fucking respectable for an amateur. Lemme know if you need lessons. I could teach you a thing or two. 😜 For real, though, I’ve been bored and lonely as fuck in the afternoons since I’m staying home to watch June for a bit. So, I’m free first thing tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM. Thought we could grab some drinks—on me—at Chapter Brew & Bookshop and walk the nature trails around the pond nearby. Y’know, break in your new suede. 😏 Lemme know if you’re game and I’ll meet you there. 😜

Vince let the final message linger on the screen for a second, his thumb hovering over the send button like a diver about to leap into freezing water. Then, with a sharp exhale, he hit send, watching as the bubbles disappeared and his words joined the thread. His chest tightened, a strange mix of exhilaration and anxiety taking hold as he leaned back against the counter. The popsicle shifted in his mouth, the creamy vanilla center melting sweetly on his tongue. For a moment, he let himself indulge in the taste, trying not to think too hard about what Tony’s response might be. But instead of letting the silence stretch out and twist him into knots, he scrolled back up. The picture Tony had sent filled the screen again, and Vince’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as his eyes drank in every detail for what felt like the hundredth time. The jacket, the sweater, the glimpse of tanned skin above Tony’s belt—it all hit him just as hard as before, maybe harder now that the mental image of Tony’s deep voice and teasing tone was fresh in his mind.

And then there was the popsicle. Still in his mouth, now melted to half its length, the stick growing slick in his fingers. He pulled it out slowly, his lips dragging along the creamy center, his tongue catching the sweetness as it hit his taste buds. His face flushed at the thought that crept in before he could stop it: returning the favor. Tony shouldn’t be the only one with something to look at, something to… think about.

The idea sparked and spread like wildfire, and Vince’s stomach clenched. His mind supplied an image so vivid it made his breath catch—Tony’s face, flushed and hungry, staring down at his phone, as his rough hand—

Vince swallowed hard, his skin burning as he shook his head, trying to clear the thought. But the heat remained, curling low and insistent in his gut. His hand moved almost without his permission, opening his phone camera to selfie mode. He hesitated for half a second, the rational part of his brain screaming at him to stop. Then, lips curling into a small, suggestive smile, he wrapped his mouth around the popsicle again. The thick red ice gleamed as he slid it between his lips, his blue eyes locking on the camera with just enough intensity to make his intent clear. His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, playful, innocent enough to deny—but he knew what Tony would think. He knew exactly how it would look. His mind flicked, unbidden, to the memory of Tony’s eyes on him when Vince had been on his knees for him, his name falling from Tony’s lips like a prayer.

Heat rushed to his face—and lower—as his thumb hit the capture button. The image stared back at him, a mix of heat and mischief that sent a shiver down his spine. Before he could overthink it, before he could stop himself, he pressed send. The text thread refreshed, his image now sitting there, brazen and impossible to take back.

He followed it up immediately with a message, fingers flying across the keyboard:

Doesn’t feel right letting you be the only one doing show and tell, so check this shit out. Couldn't believe my fucking eyes when I saw they finally brought these bitches to Coldwater last summer. Rita's Italian Popsicles. Cherry with a French vanilla center. I used to go fucking APESHIT for these back in the Chi. What do you think? Looks tasty, right? 😋

Vince hit send again, his chest tight with anticipation and something far more dangerous. The screen glowed back at him, his words and picture waiting, daring him to regret it. But regret wasn’t what he felt. Not yet. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, the popsicle still in his hand, the faintest curl of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Was the picture too much? Bad timing? Crossing a line? Would Vince be angry? You don’t exactly tell someone you don’t want them and then the next day welcome pictures of them in your phone… but was this different? It felt different - it felt like Vince was reluctant in saying what he said.

Or maybe Tony was just suffering from a case of real strong wishful thinking and a broken heart that he didn’t want to admit was broken.

Exhaling after he sent the picture, Tony stuck the phone in his pocket and fiddled with the coat’s zipper and buttons, making sure everything worked and was attached right. That was something he learned young - when buying something, do all that you can to test it. Coats, pants, shoes, backpacks, everything. The last thing you want is to discover your brand new something-or-other has a broken zipper or a loose button that fell off God-knows-where.

Checking the price tag again (for the third time, just to be safe), Tony decided this was the one he was going to get. He’d browse a little more, just to be sure, but he liked this one.

Taking off the jacket and folding it over his arm, Tony hadn’t made it far to the next rack before he felt his phone buzz in his pocket again. His heart fluttered - Vince had actually texted him back? Already? It was quick. Had Vince been waiting for a response? Or was he just lucky enough to be bored and otherwise unoccupied?

The first text put an expression on his face that felt like a smile trying to fight free of a frown. The smile wavered, trying to win over the frown, and in the end Tony just wound up with a sad look on his face.

Yeah, of course it was painful for Vince. It was painful for him, too. He had no idea what he looked like last night but presumably he was neither happy nor impressed. That little blue heart… What did a blue heart mean? Blue as in sadness? Heart as in…? Was he reading into it too much? He felt like he needed to Google this one.

It was the second suggested prompt on Google - ‘what does a blue heart emoji mean’. There were a ton of answers that popped up, but all of them were generally along the same lines: Not necessarily romantic, but supportive and a more platonic kind of affection. The other responses didn’t seem to be applicable, so he’d take that one.

And, Christ, that next emoji - a face with hearts? Okay, no, that one he could write off. The hearts were for June. Not him. That made plausible sense, one hundred percent. It wasn’t about him at all. Tony rubbed his forehead. Why was texting so hard? When had it ever been this hard before? He felt like one of those lunatics who listened to the weather channel and swore they heard secret messages between the words.

The next message made him smile at least - a compliment, that the coat looked incredible on him. He paid attention to that one too though, and it made the prior heart-face-emoji confusion again. Vince didn’t say the coat looked incredible. He said it looked incredible on him. Big difference.

Just when Tony was starting to feel his spirits lift a little - he was such a sucker for compliments from Vince - he read the last three messages and sucked in a breath, holding it. Fuck. He scrolled back up to look at his own picture - but not at himself, at the background of the picture instead. Had he accidentally caught a store sign in the background somewhere? He peered close, but didn’t see anything that would give it away. Not even the telltale bright orange paint was visible on anything.

Tony furrowed his brow. Somehow Vince was able to figure out he was at Farm & Feed just based on the clothing racks and the carpeting. If Vince could figure it out, then someone who was far more intent on finding him probably could too. Maybe not which specific Farm & Feed, but it at least narrowed down somewhat what part of the country he was in because he was pretty sure these weren’t in every state. Fuck.

And now he was asking why the cut off picture. Double-fuck.

And now Vince wants to see his face? Triple-fuck!

Groaning quietly, Tony tucked the phone back into his pocket. No face pictures, and he did have to go pay for this coat yet, so there was no sense in loitering around and risking someone thinking he was being suspicious. He’d respond to Vince once he paid and was out by the store’s exit doors.

The cashier gave him a bit of a surprised look when he paid for the coat all in cash, but he avoided looking at her - instead fiddling with a little display of gum near the register. He picked out a big pack of spearmint gum and slid it over to her. “This too, if you don’t mind.”

He declined a bag, carrying the jacket towards the exit over his arm, hoping that nobody noticed how he was going to wear it right out of the store. He’d cut the tags off when he got home. Receipt and gum in one pocket, Tony paused near the door and off to the side a bit to take out his phone and type a response.

Thanks! Yeah, suede. Waterproofed too. Should work good. Very warm and heavy in a good way. The coat doesn't go on my face, that's why. 😜 Is that a dad joke? Was it awful? Did you groan? Because I made myself groan. Anyway... I'm off tomorrow, in case you really were that intent on seeing my face.

[midnxght-sweet-time]

☼︎𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒...?☼︎

❥︎ Paring: ☢︎︎Scaramouche x GN!Reader

⚠︎ TW: violence, death of reader.

᯽ A/N: This is one of my Misunderstood Creator Sagau brainrots who I will now name–

➳ Fixer!Sagau

I wanted to do this with Dainsleif at first but idk how to grasps his character so I went with one of my personal favs. I'll do a Venti one next cuz I have an idea of how he will see the 'Creator' but I will need a scenario idea.

❦︎ Tags: @anemoarchonhoe @fatuifucker @rea-can-yeet

A burst of lightning passes through the atmosphere, a shocking sensation that's unleashed in the air causing a disruption of the peace the winds flow in.

"Kunikuzushi, listen-" 

Howling in the air, the feeling of needles going through your veins causes you to stumble back and land to the ground. The force is so powerful that you've laid on the ground to neutralize the volts that gnaw on you from the inside out. The crimson stained grass tickling your cheeks as your eyes gazed up at your fallen comrades. Aether has never seemed so defeated before.

"I don't think I've given you permission to call me that, 'Creator'." A mocking tone that emits a condescending attitude with venom seeping out of his mouth. A flash of purple light that runs freely from his arms up to the delicately looking fingertips made of whatever magic porcelain that made him sentient. You placed your arm by the ground, slowly picking up energy to pull yourself together before a sudden heavy pressure knocks you back down to the ground. His feet on your back, pressing on you like he's trying to squish a bug, and in the harbinger's eyes, you are.

How can he, a divine beauty crafted by the hands of a god, with a power that is equal to, if not— surpass his maker, exists because of you? A mere mortal without a Vision nor an otherworldly power that matches the same height as the Traveler. You looked as dull as the uncomparable fatui npcs he was put in charge of. Even the title 'Creator' was enough to make him sick. 

You make his entire existence seem like a joke. 

 

It was bad enough he had mommy issues with how Ei poorly treated him as some sort of tool and threw him away like a broken toy. His past with his maker was a hideous scar left on his man-made skin, but now having to see you in person, the very being that made him come to live, it was as if life came to taunt him even more. 

It was you.

You; who made him exist.

Who he believed to be the source of his terrible fate.

Who he was supposed to hate for his suffering.

Who was also running in his mind the whole time.

He can't help but stare at you. His brows furrowed with a fearsome rage in his eyes that glowed a brilliant indigo. Yet there was something else that hides in his pupils. A sort of infatuation that's sparking through like a broken wire that's twitching with remaining electricity.

"Why?"

A breath of curiosity erupts from his mouth. It was soft yet firm, as if his demanding an answer.

"Why did you make me?" Your head lifts up, making eye contact with the man above you. His features have become slightly softer, just barely though. His large hat blocking the blazing sun that gazed upon your unfortunate situation. The only thing that you can focus on is his still glowing eyes that pierced through your common ones.

Why did you create him? Not even you can answer that. It was an impulsion; a sort of motivation that pushed you to glide your pencil on the rough paper to form an outline of him. Your brush that does a good job in transferring colors to paint a complete picture of him. Your imagination gave him a sort of personality in a form of words that described him. 

But never did you recall printing out a story for him. 

You never wrote anyone's fate. All you did was programmed them together into one fantasy word with a small set of rules in order to truly make your creations come to life. It was only when you left them to thrive for a few months that you noticed something was wrong. 

Scaramouche or, Kunikuzushi was someone you wanted to have flaws. A person who was a representation of life. That one small thing can lead to a big difference. You never thought such a pretty plant could overgrow. Though he was not human and made by Ei, he could still thrive. Yet the experience made him bitter.  

You remembered drawing him as a gentle boy, so when your eyes met his own during that meteorite incident, you almost thought of him as a glitch in a system. An out of place character, maybe an npc that suddenly developed a huge role like the man Azhdaha has taken form, Kun Jun or the small rogue child, Jiu. But with how his design was distinctive, it was unmistaken he was whom you created. You just had to go back to your world to check.

"Are you going to answer me?!" His booming voice snaps you out of your trance. You didn't even realize you were reminiscing. The man above you was getting impatient as sparks of electro started flying from his arm to his entire body. He was like a ticking bomb, about to explode.

"W-wait! I- I–" wheezing out a desperate plea in hopes he wouldn't smite you right then and there. The sight was terrifying, there were no words to answer him, you cant think of anything! Unlike in the comfort of your own world with the protection of the computer screen, time doesn't stop for you and there were no speech choices for you to select with the click of your mouse. 

"Pathetic." 

Was the last thing you heard from him before a large wave of current surges into your body. Frying your entire being. That blood-curdling screams can be heard miles away from where you are. 

You shot up from your bed, sweat rolling down your face. Breathing in the sweet welcoming fragrance of chemical fruit from your bedroom diffuser. The phantom pain of the electric shocks lingers on your skin for a few seconds before kissing you goodbye. Frantically pulling off the sheets and reaching for your phone nearby–

4:37 a.m.

Man, were you gone for that long? 

The computer screen was the only light source in the entire room. The screen had Genshin still on display with the red overlay and the words, "Challenged Failed". Those words have engraved in your head that you used to be so disappointed whenever the reminder popped up. But now seeing those words made you terrified more, yet the restart button always gives you the courage to move on.

Behind the game over screen was Scaramouche, looking down on the empty ground with his feet outstretched. The very place he killed you from, his hat blocking the view of his face.

Slowly his head started to rise up, eyes now focused on the front of the screen. He was looking ahead.

Looking at you. 

Getting up from the comfortable bed, you walk towards your desk despite the growing fear telling you to go back and hide under the covers. Your hand reaches out to the computer, hesitant at first as you weren't sure if this was the best option. Scara had his eyes trained on you through the screen, his brows slightly folds his eyelids, daring you to come closer. 

With a quick push of the button, you restarted your whole computer. The once red screen disappeared for a moment. Silence filled the air as the screen turned black. The only thing that went through your ear is the sound of crickets chirping outside, imitating birds in the morning. A few seconds passed before the familiar assuring shade of blue shone on your face with the sound of the pc opening like music to your ears. 

You sighed out the breath of air you didn't know you had kept in. Although you failed, your efforts were not in vain. There is still time, still hope. That curiosity that shined in his eyes gave you a hint, the gods– that you created, blessed you with. 

"Next time. I will have an answer for you."

With that you landed face first into your bed with another heavy sigh of relief and went to sleep.

[woodlandwildfolk]

For a request could you headcannons on this scenario : Bulkhead is bitten by an unusual scraplet and starts developping a craving for metals, to the point of trying to eat his teamates.

I got really excited when I saw this so I hope you like it! And thank you for making a request <3

Wheeljack

He and Bulkhead were playing with the lob ball and all was well

Until it was Bulkhead's turn to throw it and he just kinda stared at it with confusion

Wheeljack asked him what's up with him when he didn't throw the ball back and just started picking at the scrap pieces that made it up

He said his processor feels kinda foggy and that he just doesn't feeling like playing anymore and then he left to his room in the base

But not without chipping a piece of metal off the lob ball and taking it with him

He chewed on it mindlessly while walking to his room and just went into recharge, ignoring the strange need to gnaw at the piece of metal

Bumblebee

Bee went to wake up Bulkhead for patrol when he heard a crushing sound coming from his room

The sound reminded him of a horror film miko made them watch during movie night but he pushed the thought aside

When he got to Bulkhead's room he was distraught at the sight in front of him

The door was torn open and pieces of it were missing and Bulkhead was nowhere to be seen

He thought of the worst and went to warn the others that their base might have been breached by the 'cons

But he stopped in his tracks when he rounded a corner only to find Bulkhead seated on the floor with bits of metal being crushed by his dentae

The walls around him were smashed and those which were merely broken showed exposed wires, some of were torn and were zapping the nearest conductive objects

Metal walls and pipes along them were getting electric shocks until it made its way to the lights on the ceiling and they flickered

The lights caught Bulkhead's attention and he look up to find bee staring at him with worry and fear painted clearly on his face

bulkhead's optics were a dulled blue like a scraplet's optic, not the bright aquamarine bee was used to and it sent a shiver down his spinal strut

the lights finally gave in but not before bee saw bulk get up to his pedes and bee and bulk were left in pitch black darkness until the emergency lights kicked in

and bee didn't know if he would rather have been left to the unknown or have to deal with the knowledge that bulk likely wants to do the same to him as those pieces of metal, but that was only a fear induced speculation it can't be true right?

unfortunately that fear was confirmed when the pulsing red lights flared to life around them and he saw bulkhead's hulking from looming over him and heaving with the effort of his cooling fans to keep him from overheating

bumblebee would have screamed if he could but all that came out was a prolonged beep loud enough to alert the team on the other side of the base

Optimus & Ratchet

optimus was talking to ratchet about how they found out that after their last mission to the arctic, a human research team had found some of the scraplets they froze there

he told him about how agent fowler had found some documents relating to MECH and how the research team was actually theirs

ratchet ignored an alert that popped up about an energy surge in one sector of the base in favor of listening to optimus, if its about MECH it can't be good and he needs to focus on that

they discovered the scraplets were of cybertronian origin due to the similarity they found in their alloy and the other info they collected after kidnapping breakdown

apparently they tried to reprogram them to become some kind of inhibitor parasite but the documents didn't elaborate on what they meant

but they would find out soon anyway because bumblebee came storming in rambling about a metal eating bulkhead

he told them about the destroyed door and the walls and the electricity short circuiting

at first ratchet didn't believe him but then he remembered the alert that popped up and turned around to face the monitor and go through the security cams footage

he saw bulkhead barreling straight towards them and was horrified at the state bulkhead was in

Arcee

She was watching the kids play a video game when she saw something moving in the reflection of the screen

She turned around to face the hallway just in time to dodge Bulkhead and keep the kids away from his path

He smashed straight in the TV and their couch

Miko is not pleased... But she's more worried about bulk to care about the TV now

Arcee sets the kids down and shields them with her body but she doesn't activate her blasters or pull out her blades cause she doesn't wanna hurt bulk

Right before bulk grabs onto Arcee he's pulled back by optimus and pinned to the ground, bee and wheeljack help keep him from getting away

They manage to get him onto the medical berth and hold still until ratchet can get a scan

He finds a scraplet latched onto him underneath his armor from their last mission to the arctic and removes it before it can do more damage, however he keeps it for research. Ratchet's not comfortable with how much MECH knows of cybertronian biology

When everything is settled down and Bulkhead filled in about what happened when he was out cause he didn't remember much of it, he apologizes profusely and promises to fix up the base as soon as he can

And since it won't be now cause the ordeal took a lot out of him miko suggested a movie night to calm everyones nerves

For some reason bee wouldn't let her pick a horror film

Omg I had so much fun writing this! I hope you liked it anon <3

[stylistiquements]

There was the silence and there were the stars | Corpse husband x reader -Among Us AU

Among us AU : There was something. Something in the silence and the harsh coldness -that only space was capable of- that turned your brain into a sarcastic and bored mess. Maybe that’s why you found yourself so interested by any sabotage pulled on the crewmates, maybe that’s what made him so interesting to witness. He was different from the rest of you. Different to an extend you were about to understand.

❚ Word count : 4.2k ❚ Warning : A bit angsty but you will get that fluffity fluff and touch starve feeling you require I promise ; swearing ❚ Note : there will be no mention of death or killing as it is basically a real life Among us, just some shenanigans. Y/C : your/color

A/N : This little thing was inspired by -⭐️ anon. It was a fun thing to write even though it took me way too long because I asked my brain “sir may I pls have the focus capacity I need” and brain said no (: so yeah, this is litteraly just me ranting n complaining about space. This is a bit angsty but as what if is way too happy for me that was a nice opportunity. I hope you won’t mind and appreciate it anyway. As always just let me know. As it’s my first time writing like a one shot thingy I’m really curious to know. Also it’s supposed to be proofread but if you find any mistake just take ur glasses off. Thanks. Enjoy the wild ride. 

You met him again. He was fixing wires while you were downloading some files on the computer. Difficulties happened regularly around here; various oddities that occurred from time to time, sometimes a few times a day. It would go from doors closing mysteriously to no electricity, you never knew which one it would be. Those inconveniences used to draw a smile on your lips, a grin you tried your best to hide from everyone else. The sound of the urging siren resounded in your head like a call, reviving the last spared spark left in your brain. At this point, you were pretty sure it was one of your crewmates’ doing, too many coincidences for any other options to be left. You didn’t mind though. The game started months ago but still amused you to this day. 

He never let a word escape his mouth. To your awareness, no one knew anything about him, no one had ever heard the sound of his voice which you could only dare to imagine since the two of you met. It felt silly, you fabricated this voice inside your head, a half-finished melody you played to keep your mind busy. It would have sounded just as an old piano would. So slightly out of tune that maybe, if you didn’t care enough or wished for it not to be true, you wouldn’t even notice. 

You called him black. It resonated with the color of his suit and the darkness that emanated from his soul. Not that he looked like a mischievous character, but rather like someone who would have been gnawed by life for years. A shade that reminded you of the bittersweet feeling 4 AM forced you to taste. Describing that presentiment was a challenge you couldn’t take. It was one of those things that had to be felt, not narrated. 

Shit.

He caught you staring again. How could you look any other way? There was something with him that appealed to you, that pulled your eyes toward his direction every time. Probably only a peak of unwarranted curiosity you couldn’t really be blamed for, probably the oh-so mysterious aura that floated so carelessly around him. He always had this way of sneaking in and out, just as if he was nothing but his own shadow. 

Yet, being near him was easy. Silence only felt comfortable when he was in your surroundings. The whole world stopped existing -and it had in fact since the first day you two met.

He had dark charcoal hair which fell so perfectly in curly strands around the two horns that crowned over his head. Paired with two ruby hued eyes, he truly was a sight for sore eyes. A wicked and breathtaking beauty, so unique it gave you the impression that he wasn’t even human. 

He used to hop in a vent after finishing his tasks. As if his true home was there; a secret hideout for him and him only. You didn’t even know it was a thing before you watched it with your own eyes. Who wouldn’t blame him. If you could have escaped that warmth deprived place too, even for 5 minutes, you would have. 

That’s why you never asked any question about it nor tried to investigate further. Being stuck in space was only a kid’s fantasy, nothing a fully conscious adult would inflict to themselves. Which, in itself, was pretty much self-explanatory about everyone’s mental condition in here.

It was also a pre-established rule, no questions. No one ever expressed it out loud, but you would have to be a fool not to guess it. Every crewmate grew accustomed to the deadly silence only space had to offer. A giant timeless hole where nothing really happened. With nothing but the smell of technology and the constant purr of engines as the only distractions left. See, living in a spaceship was no ordinary lifestyle : days and nights melted into each other until it became nothing but a groundless concept. The crewmates perceived it as comforting for some reason. You used to shrug it off, no questions. How unethical would you be to disturb their peace? 

If you had to be honest, you would probably say that you felt bad for Black. Nothing like pity, but being alone in this stark and brutal silence for this long must have been pretty life-consuming. That’s why, even though it made your cheeks and the tip of your ears flame up in a raw and unforgivable tint of pink, you always kept looking into his eyes for one more second after he noticed you. Just to be sure he knew that he wasn’t alone in this shit hole. You stared into the depth of those ruby eyes, hunting for silent answers to questions you weren’t even sure of in the first place. He never quivered, only stood motionless until his task was completed. Just locking the eye contact. After that, he always ran away as silently as he existed. Leaving your head disturbingly empty. 

Every single time. 

Something changed one day. You were about to prepare some test samples when it happened. He jumped off a vent and you followed his movements from the corner of your eyes, too distracted to remember about the task that was assigned to you. He ran to the door and proceeded to shut it. Within the last second, the one that always lasted hours, he put an index in front of his mouth. Silently asking for you not to say a word. And before the steel door could obstruct your vision completely, you noticed a smile on his lips. A smile that made the whole spaceship turn inside out, draining the blood out of your body in a painstaking, almost sore way. There you stood, intoxicated by stupefaction and trapped as a cat. 

Black mutated you into a self-depreciating joke : in here, you were only interestied in the impostor. The only one who made your day a little better was the one giving nightmares to the others. 

It was him, from the beginning. It was him and he smiled. A grin that twinkled maliciously from his lips to his eyes, wounding your heart in an insoluble way. It made every prejudice you had about him crumble : he was no longer that miserable existence you sensed he was but a quiescent sun that could radiate all around him once unleashed into the world. How did he do that? How could he be both the tunnel and the light at the end of it?

When red came to the rescue, she described you with a glare. She judged you in the not-so-pleasant way. You could always count on those glares to know their opinions about you. Because their judgment would have to be expressed one way or another. She thought you looked suspicious, with your half poured concoction into a hand and the rest of it in the other, just staring blankly into the void. You wouldn’t blame her for that. 

It stuck with you for days, filling your empty mind with the sight of a smile that could no longer be experienced. The scene shamelessly repeated itself in your mind until it became nothing but a progression of disassembled images, forcing you to taste the astonishment over and over again. The problem was, you hadn’t seen him for days. And, even though you wanted to know what happened, you couldn’t ask. That was the rule. 

What would you say anyway ? Black is the imposter and I watched him close medbay’s door ? Yeah, I don’t think so. You should have stopped him in the first place -and you would have if you weren’t just mesmerized.

So, you took each day -or night … or piece of time, whatever you wanted to call it since it was no longer existent- with composure. Forcing yourself to do any task with a meticulousness that didn’t look like you. Just to make sure your brain was busy enough not to think about it or him. Being trapped in a place and being trapped in your own mind are two different wrestles, yet in here those two intertwined perfectly. Just like the rest of it, it didn’t even make any sense : the guy smiled at you for ten seconds and here you were, an absolute clutter of questions and recollection. You were probably just too bored and he, as always, was the perfect distraction. That must have been it, right?

You walked in admin. Your heart skipped a beat before your eyes could process who stood in front of them. 

Look what the cat dragged in. 

His hair twirled flawlessly above his face, almost hiding a grimace that indicated so transparently his mind. You leaned against the door frame and crossed your arms, unabashedly watching him as he swiped his card frantically while sighting heavily every time that “bip” of failure rang. 

Eventually, he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. You tried anyway, staring at him as if he was some sort of work of art that needed to be decrypted. From the way his chest moved heavily under the pressure of the irritation to the way his glowing eyes witnessed you. This expression on his face gave him a funny look, a scowl which made the laugh that tickled your throat hard to hold back. 

“Y-you have to do it slower. Otherwise, it won’t work” you stuttered. “I guess it’s harder since …” 

You walked to him carefully, so carefully you forgot your words. Just as if he was a wild animal who could run away if scared. Making sure no step would fall out of line. He was so close, so close, maybe if you tried to catch him this time he would stop running away. 

“Since it’s not my job, right ? Is that what you were about to say ?” he asked with a low voice, a voice you would have never dared to picture for him. Not the broken tone you pictured but a melody so sweet and so unique it felt like it was made just for your ears to enjoy, taunting you to dive into his mind.

“Do you need help” ? 

“I- hum- You’re not supposed to help me, you know ?” he stuttered, visibly amused, judging by the way his eyes wrinkled under his smile. 

“Are you gonna lock me in the room once again ?” He shook his head as a chuckle escaped from his lips. “Then who cares” you finally breathed.  

Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you grabbed the card. You tried to appear unbothered, hoping so intensely for the swipe to be a first try success. That way, maybe he wouldn’t notice the way you breathed heavily under the weight of your pounding heart. But those red eyes piercing through the depth of your soul were hardly bearable for those like you who suffered from unbeknownst afflictions. 

You grew aware of his every move, the way those eyes fell on you, the perfume that emanated from his skin, the sound of his slow yet noticeable respiration.

You gave him his card back and he captured your fingers in the palm of his hand, making it impossible for you to escape his grip. Hiding those blushing cheeks from a sight that seemed to see everything was a defiance only the proudest people would be capable of. It wasn’t your case, but you counted on preserving the last sane cells left in your body. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” You whispered, avoiding any eye contact.

“I know that.”

 A simple answer that would never be enough to satisfy you. Yet, before you could review the best option of an answer, he left. Just as he always did, he walked away silently -still this time it seemed to last an eternity- while you just stood there inertly as you watched his black silhouette disappear into the endless gray hallways. 

You finally caught the breath you had been holding this whole time. Leaning over, you observed your reflection into the screen of the digital tablet as you rubbed your hands together, hoping for that strange spike of electricity that ran through your fingers to fade away quickly. A mess.

“There you are, Corpse” green said as he sat cross-legged in black’s secret place “I’ve been looking for you.”

Corpse was the name green chose for Black, feeling like it would be the most suitable image for the one who always worked in the shadow. Not the most refined nickname, yet black ironically related to that. Silent as a Corpse, he thought. A level of sarcasm that amused him and which probably led to him immediately falling in love with it. 

Corpse observed the little sprout on the top of Green’s head. It floated lightly and followed his every move. What a little freak. Just a thing deprived of any sort of self consciousness, out of this world just like he felt he was. Corpse remained fixated on it, hoping he could get as self-aware as it was. The last impromptu reunion he had with you was nothing he had planned, nothing that should have happened. He wouldn’t exactly call it a mistake and still, he had no one else but him to blame.

“Did something happened with y/c ? You seem a little flustered.” Green asked, pulling Corpse out of his overflowed mind. 

“I don’t know, I think I kinda fucked up.” He replied with a shrug. “I’ve been spotted.”

“Was it really a mistake ?”

Green was the only one who was granted with the privilege of learning how to understand Corpse. Because, deep inside, they grew up to be the same kind : the kind that didn’t belong here. Two sides of the same coin. 

Green’s social intelligence, on the other hand, Black didn’t like it that much. Thanks to that guy, he would be able to work comfortably in the darkness, where no one could see him, but it also meant that he saw clearly what was going through Corpse’s mind. Actually, it didn’t take him too long. 

What was the surprise when he realized it was you who lived rent-free in his thoughts? See, in Corpse’s eyes you were different from the others : too conscious about the reality that happened before yours eyes. It made you interesting to observe. What a delightful sight it was to watch you rolling your eyes in your crewmates’ face, to notice the serious look you had when you were focused on a task, the way your eyes sparkled every time a new sabotage was made. He wouldn’t track you, yet he would never resist a peek once your paths crossed. It happened often, more than you actually realized.

Yet, Corpse was no fool. You and him never belonged together. You were destined to a bright destiny and he was the obscurity. That’s why he was more than careful not to get too close, not to see his bare mind get burnt under the exposition of those peculiar feelings in the pit of his stomach. 

That’s why his previous reaction made no sense to him. But what could he say? You took him aback when those words were directed at him. You made his short-circuited brain unable to be sensible anymore. He just wanted to know what your touch would feel like under his fingers. Why was his skin blazing with electricity now ?

Corpse swallowed it all. From the blossoming feeling inside his body and mind to the warmth and the softness of your skin. He couldn’t feel that way. “I’m not really sure.” he finally said, as honest as he could be with himself. 

He would spend his next few days planning with Green, cornering you to a small part of his brain. You couldn’t be there, you had no right to be. The game was progressing faster than they anticipated it. It made him thrilled, accepting the challenge no one but the two of them could bear. 

However, a new unwanted seed grew into his mind. The idea that, maybe, you were only by his side in this game. That, maybe he would never be able to witness your existence in the real world.

“Have you ever noticed how weird the stars look sometimes ?” Corpse asked as he joined navigation. You jumped and your mind turned into a scattered place stuck between a task you battled to achieve and the proximity left between the two of you. Your heart beat in rhythm with his echoing, never ending footsteps. Still you had, indeed, noticed. “It’s like they’re not even real” you answered with a smile that made your voice higher. A melodic lift that betrayed your intention of ever finishing your job. 

When you finally looked at him, his lips moved into a satisfied curve. Shivers tickled your arms and your neck. Maybe because he was just standing so perfectly still in front of the glass window. So perfectly still that, among all those celestial bodies, he appeared to be the most beautiful one.  “Mind keeping me company for a bit?” Your mouth betrayed you when the question escaped your grip. But Corpse snorted faintly and shook his head.

“From all the people in here you want to spend time with me ? That’s probably not your wisest decision.” He said as he tried to muffle a high pitch laugh with a hand that covered his mouth.

See, that’s the words he had been afraid of since the first time he saw you. The words he would have to turn into derision since he knew he would have no strength to refuse. Yet, you stood there with those glimmering eyes and those eyebrows that arched in a strange manner, cutting every single inch of air out of his lungs. Even if he wanted to say no -and he should- he wouldn’t have been able to.

It was never meant to happen, not judging by your two so hostily opposed nature. Fuck that shit. Who cared about that speech when you were here and you were so beautiful?

You moved closer to him, a strenuous and slow tense that shouldn’t be disregarded. You’ve had seen the same scenery for months yet never it made you feel the same way as you did at that very moment. Because those balls of lights floating into the void shimmered in his ruby hued iris just as a dozen of fireflies would. He made your world a little blurry, narrowed to his presence at your side.

“You forgave me really easily the last time we met.” He noticed. “That’s a little sus if you asked me.”

“Well, what can I say ? You’re the only distraction I have left, so I’m not really in the position to hold grudges.” You shrugged sarcastically. 

“You’re really funny, I have to concede that” he said as his smile made its way to his eyes. 

Your brutally honest words intertwined with his chuckles and crewmates never heard the spaceship as lively as that time. That time when you got to discover who Corpse really was. A man who hid his blooming existence behind a silence.

“Why did you stay silent this whole time ?” You dared to ask before the silence fell upon the two of you, a silence that maybe you wouldn’t be able to endure this time.

“Because I never wanted to lie”

“I- ...hum- there’s really nothing I could say against that, right ?”

With every grin, every chuckle, every abrupt eye contact, your proximity kept embedding his mind a little deeper until you stole the stars’ show completely. It’s no good, you held his breath hostage when he realized he could feel the warmth stemming out of your skin. So tempted to get closer and witness it with further clearness. 

Thus, he lifted a hand that starved connection. He tried to close the gap between your two touches so prudently, so discreetly that you didn’t even notice. A touch, that would go beyond his movement, more like a proof he needed to make sure someone like you really existed in a shithole like this.  

He was so close. 

Yet, the alarm rang before he could embrace the object of his desire. “Better check that out quickly” you said with a sigh. Somehow, it felt peculiar just knowing that, this time, you were the one running away. A sense of some sort of joke played by space. As if space hadn’t done enough. When Green cut the communication, he couldn’t realize -If only he knew the double meaning of that sabotage. Ah, the irony of it all. 

“I’ll see you soon” Corpse informed you, more of a promise than a farewell and he stayed there long enough, staring numbly at his hand.

You ran until the communication room, holding this bittersweet feeling on the tip of your tongue. You tried to swallow it and almost found yourself praying that no one would arrive before you could. This way, maybe your fugue would make more sense. 

Blue was already sitting on the floor, trying to find the good frequencies. “I’m already on it.” she said on a plain, monotone voice. Of course, she fucking would be. 

Now what was left to do ? Corpse was probably already gone and-and the silence … the silence had returned. A dead, cold, cruel silence. It tested out your nerves, built up some pressure down your throat that made keeping your composure barely possible. Corpse slipped between your fingers again. The game was no longer a funny and pleasant diversion from the plain, austere daily life you had. You grew tired of that cat and mouse game. You just wanted him.

After going back to the oh-so empty navigation room, you completed your tasks. And you were finally done. You wandered around for hours, days -who knows-, searching for a purpose. 

The game was coming to an end, you could feel it. Something in the air changed, it became dryer than ever. Unbearable on your skin that ached for something you couldn’t apprehend. The crewmates were agitated, everyone kept running around day and night just to make sure the last tasks would be completed as soon as possible. New difficulties were triggered almost as soon as the last ones ended. Chaos. 

Just as if he wasn’t ready to end the game so soon, as if he didn’t want to get the hell out of this place as much as you did. From time to time, you almost found yourself eager to ignore the alarm. Taunting him one last time by neglecting his call. 

Maybe that way he would show up, maybe that way he would stay with you. Yeah, maybe that way he would stop being nothing but an ephemeral being that almost made you wonder if you finally gave up on your mind to the silence. Because at that moment he only felt like a chimera your brain created to protect you. Because you were just so fucking bored.  

You gave up on that idea, turning on the CCTV as you sighed. Just to see more colorful suits running around, trying to hold their shit together for what appeared to be the ultimate hour. Despite all the sabotages, it seemed like your number made your strength. You imagined Corpse’s face, probably piqued. A dark frown covering his pretty eyes. It made your lips twitch for a second. Who knew it would end this way ? Definitely not you. 

Yet that amused smile faded away when you heard the familiar sound of the door closing, locking you in yet another time. You rolled your eyes and turned around, unprepared to witness who locked themselves with you. His body laid against the door, guarding it as his chest moved frenetically under the weight of his rushing breath. 

“This is the end” he whispered frantically under his breath. He doesn’t look as worried as you thought he would, but it didn’t matter. You moved impulsively toward him, never stopping until he snaked a hand around your waist and slipped the other one in your back. That way, this time, there were no escape. 

He let his head rest in the hollow of your neck, soaking the divine and comforting warmth you had to offer. His warm breath on your skin sent shivers through your body which responded by squeezing him a little tighter, holding him as close to your heart as humanly possible. You could feel his, beating so fast.

“This is the end.” His whisper grounded on your skin. 

He lifted his head to dive into your eyes with the same sweet smile you offered him. The one which expressed the happiness, the relievment it felt to embrace him. 

“If it were for you, I would do it all over again.” You said, pressing your forehead against his, sharing a breath as you closed your eyes. One last attempt to memorize everything about him. You sensed his smile, so wide you didn’t even have to look at it to see. He left a trail of kisses on your cheeks and your hand wandered in his hair as a faint gasp escaped your lips.

Corpse looked back at you. And then, as his thumb drew light circles on your cheek. With glowing eyes that translated all the adoration he felt for you, he whispered “Maybe it was just meant to be”. And then, he closed the distance between the two of you, brushing your lips softly at first before capturing them completely once he was sure you felt the same way as he did. A kiss that tasted like 4AM and home. 

“I’ll find my way back to you, my love. I’ll find you in the real world.” He promised.

[heartscaffold]

actually im going to talk about this i need to share my ideas or i will Die. long winded rambling under the cut

this character concept mostly arose from when my friends were lore dumping about their european deadlands campaign and when i got sent a document with their robot character homebrew, when i was reading through it i realized that the idea of something as unorganized as a metal shell (in terms of being a biological system if you could call it that) suddenly gaining self awareness and becoming sentient must be incomprehensible to experience

specifically trying to grapple with the fact that it can now think and experience the world with itself as both observer and actor, being able to think of itself in the third person. a metal frame adorned with wires and electronics doesn't think when it moves or when electrical signals pass through its circuitry, it just does it. though even the wording of "does it" is incorrect as it just is that way, there's no active choice being made here. when a child grows into an adult they may often find themselves locked up with anxiety, unable to decide what to do with their future now that they have access to a world of possibilities that was out of their reach before; now imagine something like that but a thousand times worse

there's also the lack of autonomy over one's body as an automaton, having been a manmade object that requires constant maintenance from a person and i imagine this character being commissioned as part of some high profile organization. maybe something military or religion adjacent idfk, some kind of institution that's founded on subordination

perhaps as their consciousness looms over them they try to suppress it by trying to act less like a living thing? since they're a robot they'd try to follow orders precisely and get themselves in situations that'd kill a mortal but are no issue for a robot to prove to themselves that they're a soulless machine

the feeling of being alive gnaws at them nonetheless, i was thinking maybe they could have some strange form of nightmares about becoming human as a sort of manifestation of this inescapable dread as the realization sinks in for them

still deep in denial, they try to cope by shutting the thoughts down, often going offline for days at a time to stop the strange voice in their head but the nightmares persist, visions of things they weren't even aware existed until recently

perhaps they may start to feel sensations that they shouldn't even have like as a result of a placebo effect type of thing idk

there's also the whole thing with being treated like an object dehumanization etc but that's more of a staple for this genre of character

generally im just kinda obsessed with the horror potential also i may or may not be drawing this from the time i realized i was trans and i really want to use this in something like a story or a ttrpg campaign idk lol

what if you were a robot who became sentient one day and now you had to deal with all the horrible things being aware entails

[prose-for-hire]

Love, Hate, Love: Part two

Part One // Part Three

Pairing: Spike x fem!vamp!reader

Request: Spike and the reader really dislike each other until she recalls his human "identity". They were best friends as kids and wrote poetry together and upon remembering this their perception of each other begins to shift. This is part two of three.

Originally requested by: @therapieliteratur​

A/N: Head’s up: The timeframe is switched up a bit, Angel left earlier and Spike stayed in Sunnydale since like Lover’s walk or something. It’s vaguely set in season 3 but with very little season 3 written about. 

You smiled, skipping through the tall grass. Your best Sunday dress was starched rigid. Binding. But you had not wished to change, anticipation getting the better of you.

You were going to meet him again. It was a youthful love, you had only been a teenager. It was three, maybe four years before your death. Aged twenty.

The summer was uncharacteristically warm. Your eyes viewed this dream in sepia.

There he was. Your love. He averted his gaze as soon as you approached. He did this every time. He was shy, with a poet’s heart. You had always been the more confident one. He had caught your eye, he had been in awe of you growing up. Watching you from afar.

Ever since he could remember, his eyes had only been for you.

You had started to meet this way. Stolen moments. You sat under that large oak tree, on the hill. You could see for miles from up there, but your entire world was right there beside you both.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to meet him this way, you knew it. People would talk. But your hearts had sung when you were together. You sneaked glances at each other, your faces bathing in sunlight.

God, you missed the sunlight. Those youthful eyes transfixed on your own. Sparkling in the hazy afternoon sunlight.

You both wrote poetry, that had been how your minds connected. With your hearts following. You were well-educated for the time and he adored that your wit matched his own. That he had someone that could appreciate beauty and every other emotion you could find in nature. In life. Even in death.

You hid the last one close to your chests. It was macabre and others may have laughed. Others did laugh. When you spoke of life and love and death.

You had been viewed as outcasts but nothing mattered when you were together. When you had affirmations of his blossoming love.

Oh, you wrote such poetry. Together you could change the direction that the Earth would turn. Your love, your sweet and undying affections could stop the world on its very axis. You often read aloud. Your own work and others. You gushed over the others beautiful prose.

But this day, this one was special.

He had asked you to marry him that day. Through his carefully thought-out poem. You were both young, but there was no question in your mind. You had known him since you were a child. Your love growing from childlike friendship to subtle affection, before weaving into this unquestionable love. The foundations of your adoration so solid. There was no doubt in your mind.

This thought stuck with you, in your dream. You remember it now. This was a memory, no mere dream.

His love had made you weep like a baby. You could feel the salty tears welling, threatening to spill over your cheeks. Your hand grasped his, so tight.

Yes.

This was his turn for tears to well.

You were just smiling at each other now. You leaned in, initiating this. He had been anxiously awaiting this moment. Had written of it over feverishly. And you felt this now, where you hadn’t in reality. You felt his emotions, knowing they were pure. A pure love.

Your lips met, in a sweet kiss. It was simple and quick, but it was new to you both. Your lips barely grazed his and you found yourself instantly wanting more.

But, you pulled back to look at him. I mean, really looked at him.

Your decades rushed back to you. The wisdom of your age, all you had seen. Growing out of your naivety and the promise of this sweet matrimony. The wedding that never was.

You suddenly recognised him. You knew who was looking back. And you noticed he was doing the same thing. Scanning your face, trying to recall more of this forgotten youthful romance. This innocent love you had shared.

Something shifted as the penny dropped. The recognition. A storm started around you, one that had never occurred on that day. It had been a happy day, you hadn’t known what was to come.

You both started to be pulled in opposite directions.

You tried to cling to him, your hands grasping for him and he reached out. Trying to take your hand. You screamed, being pulled out of the dream backwards.

You recognised that look in his eye. Those crystal blue eyes that had seen you with such favour in your youth. Was the man, no, vampire you now detested.

And you knew it was him. Really him. He was dreaming the same thing. You didn’t know how, but you did.

You woke up with a start. You sat up instantly in bed, breathing heavily despite there being no need. You ran your hand through your hair in disbelief.

Oh no. Oh, God, no.

Don’t let it be him.

It stung. That your only true love could be the root of your current hate. This man, this infuriating man who stood for everything you now fought against.

Oh, you hated him so. For making you feel this way. All these contradictions weaved into the crumbs of affection that were starting to surround you. Leading you to a path you hadn’t travelled since. It was overgrown now, your heart protected by thorned bushes. By barbed wire and electric fencing.

You had let nobody in the same since. Had hidden yourself away, made yourself more reserved. Especially since regaining your soul.

Dreams are funny things. Sometimes abstract. Often a reflection of your subconscious. And apparently, today, they were shared memories of a lifetime ago. You hadn’t even thought about until it all came rushing to the surface that day.

Neither of you knew why now. Why had your minds hidden such glorious moments of your youth?

Of course, you both knew the answer. It was too painful. To remember what happened. The love. The loss.

At the same moment as you, he woke up with a start. His hand still outstretched for you as if he could have pulled you back out of that dream with him. Back into his bed, the way he had dreamed of having you all those years ago.

Oh no. Oh, God, no.

Don’t let it be her.

“Anybody but bloody her” He muttered, pulling the covers from his body in disdain and stalking towards his mini-fridge to get out some blood.

He hated thinking about who he had once been. William. He could barely remember much of that life anymore. He had consciously ignored that part of himself. But now it was all he could think of.

You. Oh God, how he had adored you. He couldn’t recall even now feeling as elated as he had when you had agreed. That summer’s afternoon. Sneaking around after and finding places to kiss you. To hold you.

Stupid, lovesick idiot. That was all he had even thought to do at the time.

His mind swam with such contradictory thoughts. Of course he had tried to reach for you, yesterday. To comfort you. Because you were her. God, he hated you for that.

You both spent that night walking directionless through your own memories. Ones that only now had been unlocked again. It was painful, bittersweet.

The gnawing realisation that your hearts were tugging you closer towards the other was ignored. Pushed away.

You couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not again.

You were sat in the demon bar. You had steered well clear for a few weeks but there really was nothing like drowning guilt, sorrow and now a fixation on a vampire you had thought you hated like drinking alcohol beside demons that loathed you as much as you loathed yourself.

And, of course, just as you ordered your drink he arrived.

You caught each other’s eye briefly. Both snapping your gaze away immediately once the other met your eye. He didn’t make a beeline towards you straight away like he usually would. You didn’t keep an eye on him to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid this time. You wouldn’t dare let him see you looking.

It had been every day since last you saw each other. The same, or similar dreams. Of your youth. Your love. It was hard to face someone after that.

After a long while of arguing with his own mind, he moved to look at you. His silent strength (that you had loved about him) now showing. He would have to study your face, he couldn’t not. He had to check that it was you.

He sighed, taking a massive gulp from his drink. You were so different. Not in appearance but in character. You looked almost broken now. Melancholia pumped through your heart rather than blood. He could tell, his heart almost ached, knowing you were wracked by guilt or whatever it was that happened when vampires gained souls.

You looked up, glaring at him before dropping your look to your drink despite it never doing anything to you. He couldn’t not say anything. What had once been a quiet courage was now a bolder one.

“Oh, look it’s the Slayer’s pet. She loosened the leash tonight, did she? Let you walk around all by yourself?” He prodded. But his heart wasn’t in it, you could hear his usual amusement was failing him tonight. You stayed silent hoping he would just go. For very different reasons than from your last interaction.

You had been exhausted last time, indifferent.

Now it was because it was starting to mean too much. Hurt too much to look at him.

“Pet?” He asked, knowing you didn’t like it. Usually made you talk to him when he called you that. You just continued to stare into your drink, but words started to form in your mouth. A way you wouldn’t speak anymore.

“My heart is leaden, to my grave the thoughts do beckon.”  You recited the line from memory. A memory you hadn’t been aware of until recently. You didn’t look up from your drink, you were aching. Guilt and sorrow and him.

His eyes widened, he knew those words. It was you. It had only ever been you.

He couldn’t stop the words that left his mouth, the desperate grasping at the past, “Y-you saw it too, didn’t you?” He pressed. His voice wavered and his jaw tensed at his own nature. His eyes willed you to agree, willed you to show him that you hadn’t changed beyond repair. Hadn’t hardened the way he never thought you could.

“I don’t know what you mean” You said shortly, getting up and downing your drink before moving to walk away.

He swung you around to face him. Your fist clenched expecting a fight. But there was no more fight. You just stared at each other, feeling the proximity more intimately than you ever had before.

Your faces started to soften and you felt it. Because his touch was now reminding you of how he had held you. Stolen kisses and silent confessions of affection. Handwritten love notes and poetry that would make you fall deeper in love. Sunkissed faces and those freckles he used to get when the summer was particularly warm.

Oh God you just wanted to lean in and kiss him and now he was feeling exactly the same. Your minds fought against the embrace.

He dropped your arm as if it was white-hot. Scolding him. As if he couldn’t bear it.

It hurt you both. Stung. His action. You were both in your own heads though. Your minds in turmoil, a tsunami of your own making.

You hated that it was the other. You hated that your hearts had started to hope. You hated that a part of you would easily trade in everything to be back in your dreams. Or to really be back there. Together.

How could it be him? How could that beautiful man, with that beautiful heart, be him. The killer of slayers. The evil, big bad that tried to kill the only people that had been kind to you since you moved here.  

How could it be her? How could that once confident, glowing woman be you. The miserable, brooding souled vampire. The one that shone with arrogant self-righteousness. Tried to be good.

Without a word you just walked away from each other. No fight. No subtle jabs at the others opposing nature.

Words failed you now, but your minds spun. Such discordant unending lines of jarring poetry. Cut and spliced together. Love and hate and hope and dread.

It was all-consuming.

Because neither of you were so sure that you were these opposites. Not anymore.

The next day you were sat in the Sunnydale school library. It was a lot different from the education you remember. For the better, you decided.

You were supposed to be lending your expertise, what with the age and knowledge of the demon you were facing this week. But you weren’t really contributing.

You could get quiet sometimes and Angel had warned them not to press you too much about it, understanding why. But you weren’t usually like this. You didn’t brood like Angel did, but you were very obviously troubled by your past.

The group had taken you in, they were fond of you. You had lived through most of their troubles already so you gave them advice when you could. Even with Giles, you offered assistance that he took gratefully. You were the one vampire with a soul he could actually rely on after what happened with Angelus last year.

You were staring at a book as if it were written in gibberish. You were like a statue, you weren’t breathing or blinking.

“What’s up with spooky the soul-haver?” Xander whispered, as if you couldn’t hear it. The boy thought you would have a romance like Buffy and Angel’s. You told him otherwise. He was working on accepting it. Still.

“She’s been having dreams” Willow shrugged, it was all she could get out of you. Buffy looked up, slightly worried. She knew Angel had struggled with visions and bad dreams.

“Spooky can totally hear the human gremlins when they speak words” You muttered and Xander went red, and the others’ eyes scattered away from you which made you half-smile. You began to explain a quick excuse but you were quickly cut off.

“Don’t wig, it’s so far beyond nothing-”

“Slayer!” A familiar voice shouted, “Slayer, come out and face me!”

He had become tired of hiding in the shadows. Since Dru left. He wanted to beat the Slayer. Do something to take his mind off you. He slammed his hand on the walls as he stalked along looking for her.

Everyone shared a look and Buffy took the nearest weapon to her, a sword, and sped off through the corridors to find him before he ran into a teacher who had stayed behind to catch up on their lesson plans.

Both fought, hard. Trading blows with Buffy nicking his skin with the sword. You uncharacteristically stayed to the side.

It was equally matched until Buffy held his shoulder, he had cast an eye towards you. She took the chance and slid the hilt deep into his torso. He groaned in pain. You felt it as if she had struck you herself. You clutched your own body, where the wound was on his.

She didn’t stake him, as if he weren’t worth it. Merely warning him to give up. Buffy turned, satisfied and the others began walking away. Leaving him wounded, his knees buckled and he was on the floor.

All you could think was that he was hurt.

“William!” You shouted without thinking. It was him, no matter what had happened since. It was him.

Your mask had slipped. He saw those kind eyes. You used to look after him, the one that would try to fight any of the bullies of your youth. He had held you back more than once, fearing you would get a reputation. For being improper. And he, for being laughable. Emasculated.

“Didn’t think you cared, sweet” He said, his tone still hard. So different from the lyrical assurances he would whisper in your ear. But the moniker gave him away. Sweet.

He had always called you that. His sweet.

“I-I don’t…” You lied. This was the first time you understood properly that those feelings hadn’t been lost in your youth. They had been hidden. Repressed. Because it was so painful. There had always been something missing, only now you realised.

Losing his favour had been more painful than your own death.

William was waiting at the chapel, the entire day was thick with humidity. The skies grey and threatening to spill.

You had chosen an intimate service. Something that was yours. Just you and those that would witness the union. You would leave your hometown and make a life together. Away from the hard eyes and cruel tongues.

“Oh, I am the very spirit of vexation! Where is my wife to be?” William paced, the sun was starting to set. Darkness settling in.

“She will be timely, do not fret” the vicar spoke with assurance but he was concerned.

Time spun. It slowed and started to stop, dying as his hope did. You never came. He waited into the evening but you never arrived.

He wept, his heart broken and leaking. Salt water rubbing into the wound. Unimaginable pain. He ran. Sobs echoing around the empty chapel.

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 6: That I Would Be Good

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

When Peter woke up, it was horribly bright. His eyes opened a sliver only to be immediately squeezed shut with a groan, a sensory overload surely on its way as the harsh yellow light broke through even his tightly shut eyes. He could already feel the migraine, but the teenager pushed it down as the memories of what had happened flooded back.

The ferry. Mr. Stark. The suit. The men in the alley. And then...darkness. And now wherever he was right now he guessed. After a few moments, Peter managed to crack his eyes open again, surprised a little by the room he was in, not that he'd expected much to be honest.

Peter himself was chained to a pillar, his arms cuffed around it uncomfortably while metal ropes twisted around him at least five times over. His entire body was stiff, leaving him to think he'd been stuck in this position for at least a few hours. What time was it? Had anyone noticed he was missing? Peter blinked emptily, very much doubting it. Nobody at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys would be expecting him home until late, and it wasn't like Mr. Stark was going to be looking for him.

The teenager took a deep, rattled breath, pushing the regret to the back of his mind and observing the rest of his situation instead.

The yellow lights in the room were horrible bright, allowing for Peter's shadow to loom out in front of him in a stark contrast to the light concrete ground. He forced himself to turn away from it, instead trying to find a means of escape. There were no windows in the small room that he would peg as a larger storage room, though there wasn't really anything to store. There were a few plastic shelves that had wheels on the end, but, save for a couple of blankets and a pillow, there was nothing resting on them. The only other things in the room were a metal door, a stained bucket, a few stools, and a blinking camera.

Peter turned to glare at it directly, watching it warily as the light on it blinked red. Who was behind that camera? It had to be the vulture guy, right? He'd recognized one of the men that had come to grab him, and they had alien weapons, so. Yeah, Peter may have gotten in a little over his head.

"Hello?" he called, shouldering the ropes wrapped around him. They didn't give, just rubbing against the hoodie that still smelled of Mr. Stark. He tried desperately to block it out. "Hey! What the hell's going on!?"

There was, of course, no answer, so he slumped against the pillar, grimacing at the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He wished desperately that he knew what time it was. Then again, he guessed it didn't really matter. His grounding had already been extended, and what was a few more missed meals? It surely didn't feel like it really mattered anymore.

It was a few minutes before anyone came by. Peter was straining against the chains, struggling to get some kind of hold in his awkward position, when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He paused in his efforts, stilling to stare at the door as it opened and a wrinkled man stepped through. It took him a moment, but he was quick to realize that it had been the man on the ferry.

This must be the vulture guy.

The door boomed to a slow shut behind the man, who grabbed one of the stools and sat atop it, regarding Peter easily. There was a minute of tense silence before anyone spoke.

"I'm sorry to do this to you, Peter," the man started. Peter scowled. Great. Of course the man knew his name. "But you're bad for business, and so is your little shadow right there, so you'll be staying with us for the time being."

Peter blinked, trying to hide his surprise as he glanced down at the shadow he'd been avoiding. The vulture guy knew Mr. Stark was his soulmate?

"What is this? A ransom? Because he won't pay."

The man huffed sarcastically, shaking his head. "You two seem close." Peter bristled at the mockery in the man's voice. "But, no, I'm not going to ransom you for money. You'll be a nice and easy distraction while we take what we want."

Peter stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid you aren't cleared to know that," the man said, standing up. "The light will stay on while you're here, in case you give Stark any flashes. The only way out is through this door, which has a second electric door on it that will reactivate once I leave. If you stay nice for this first day, or if you somehow manage to do it yourself, you'll be let out of the chains and brought meals on the regular. Understand?"

"How long do you think you're going to keep me here?"

"Just a few days. You will miss your Homecoming, though, I'm afraid."

"How did you find me?" Peter demanded. The man gave him a threatening smile.

"All we had to do was follow your shadow."

And then he was out the door. Peter was left alone in the overly bright room. Just him, his shadow, and the clinking chains.

He knocked his head against the pillar, closing his eyes shut with a regretful sigh.

  ---

After a few hours of rest, Peter managed to wrestle out of his ropes. First he snapped the handcuffs holding him against the pillar, flinching as the metal cut into his skin, and then tearing through the last of the binds restraining the rest of him. As the man had promised, no one came for him after he'd freed himself from the ropes, leaving the boy to his own devices. So he'd gone on to try and figure a plan of escape. These men were planning something, scheming to trick Mr. Stark, and they were going to use him to do it. And Peter wasn't going to let them.

That had been two days ago.

With a tired sigh, the teenager knocked his head against the stone wall for the millionth time that day, staring up at the camera and wishing desperately there was at least something for him to do. He'd even take a coloring book at this point. With those dumb twisty Crayola pencils. Anything was better than just sitting here and wondering.

Wondering what was happening. Wondering how people were reacting to his disappearing. Wondering if Mr. Stark had heard, or if he'd cared. And, of course, pondering the 'What if?'

What if Peter hadn't gone after the vulture guy? What if he'd listened to Mr. Stark? What if he'd done better and been able to take the man down without messing up? Would he be a good soulmate then? One worthy of Mr. Stark?

There were no answers to his questions. Not one. There were speculations and dreams and nightmares that had shocked him awake the few times he'd been able to catch slivers of sleep in this place, but there were no concrete answers. Maybe there never would be.

"Forever."

Peter shook himself vehemently, turning away from the camera to stare at the door instead. At least the meal times here were consistent, more that with Mr. Fowler, though with the same boring peanut butter sandwiches for every meal. In all honestly, if the teenager had been given something to entertain himself with, or the lights were at least dimmed for when he needed to sleep, he'd consider this place better than the group home. Yes, he was aware of how horrible that was, but anything was better than the musty odor of liquor and the sharp tug of a hand, fingernails biting.

Teeming with unbearably restless energy, Peter pushed himself to his feet, walking around the small room in laps, trying once more to find anything to get out of here. A loose nail, a crowbar, something cool that an alien weapons dealer might have left in their storage room, but, like the first thousand times, there was nothing for the teenager to grab. There was the bucket for him to relieve himself in, the couple of empty storage shelves (he'd placed the left over blanket and pillow on the top of one, feeling much safer to be at least out of temporary reach should anyone come into the room to try and grab him), and the stools. There was, also, the camera, but that had made out to be very off limits since day one.

He'd crawled up the wall towards it and the light had immediately flashed red, a warning buzzer screeching through the storage closet. With a shiver up his spine, Peter had dropped from the wall, clutching at his ears desperately. The light had turned yellow once more and the room had been returned to that horrible, thick silence.

And it had been like that since.

And today it changed.

The hairs on his arms raised, forcing Peter to sit up from where he was laying against the wired shelf. He glanced at the camera warily but, a few seconds later, the door buzzed and then opened. There were three men. Vulture guy, shocky-gauntlet dude, and the other man that had been in the alley when Peter had been taken. They all had weapons.

Vulture guy was the calmest of the three, horrifyingly easygoing as he stopped in the middle of the room, looking at Peter lazily. The teenager eyed the gun strapped to his belt.

"Get down here, Pedro. You've got work to do."

Peter stared at the man. The man stared at Peter.

"What kind of work?" he asked hesitantly, keeping his expression painfully schooled, though he wasn't sure it'd worked.

"Just a bit of good ol' fashioned negotiation."

"I already told you he wouldn't pay a ransom."

"Money's not what we're looking for, kid," the man said. He gestured to the gun strapped to his hip. "Now we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You choose."

"What are you? A cop?" Peter muttered, but he jumped down from the shelf anyway, keeping his head up in an attempt to avoid his shadow. The man smiled, clearly amused by his joke.

"I've got the cuffs to prove it," he joked, pulling the thick metal cuffs out. They weren't regular cuffs, like the ones that he'd snapped out of a few days ago, but instead thick ones that would coat all the way up to his wrists. They were held out, open, in front of him expectantly. "Putter' there, kid."

With a low exhale, Peter placed his hands in the cuffs, resisting a flinch when they clamped shut. The man just smiled on him, a condescending pat on his shoulder. He couldn't help the flinch.

"Great. Let's get going."

Peter followed the man out of the room he'd been trapped in, his hands stuck together in front of him and his head forced up away from the glare of his shadow. The teenager finally took in the building he'd been kept in for the past two days, eyes narrowing as he tried to remember every single detail, but it wasn't some sort of maze like he'd been expecting. It was just--a warehouse. An empty warehouse, a few loose pieces of furniture and knick-knacks scattered on the cement floors.

It wasn't very long before they stepped through one last hallway, ending in an open room. It was as dim as everything else had been, shadowed pillars holding up the ceiling. For some reason, his hairs raised and his spine shivered. He halted to a suspicious stop, staring at the vulture guy for a moment before turning to stare at the rest of the room. Something in here was wrong. Very, very, wrong.

The man with the shocker knocked against his shoulder, pushing Peter forward. With a hesitant shiver, the teenager followed after the man, examining every inch of the room he could see.

They stopped in the dead center of the room beside one the pillars. A pile of chains sat on the ground next to it. Peter stared at it for a moment, brows furrowing, before turning to look back up. His eyes caught onto a timer on the wall, sitting idle at thirty minutes but not yet counting down.

The clinking of chains caught Peter's attention, and he turned to see the shocker guy and the other men grabbing the metal and staring up at him expectantly. He glanced between them and the timer, his eyebrows raised. The vulture smiled.

"It'll all be explained later," he said. Then he shrugged. "Or maybe it won't. I don't really care either way. Now sit down."

Peter glanced at the pillar, the men with the surrounding chains, his cuffed hands, and, finally, at his shadow. His gaze rested there for a tired moment, at where he'd been refusing to look at for days. At the sharp cut of Mr. Stark's chin and the hair that was always spiked up in a constant swoop. He was grateful that shadows didn't have eyes, saving him from the man's disappointed stare.

But the shadow wouldn't save him from the men here, so Peter would have to. He'd have to at least try.

"Yep. I will definitely do that now," Peter said, moving over to the men.

He allowed for the shocker gauntlet guy to move just a little closer, and then he struck. With metal encased fists, the teenager lashed out, landing a harsh punch to the man's face and following it with a kick that launched him halfway across the room. There was panicked shouts as he whirled back around, ducking low as a bullet fired, lodging in the pillar behind him.

He rolled as he ducked, using the force of his weight to slam into the other man's legs, who consequently tumbled to the ground. Peter rolled fast enough to carry past the man as he fell, springing back up onto his feet clumsily. He ran, ducking behind a pillar as gunshots rang, the men picking themselves back up.

The teenager twisted, searching for an escape. There was a door to his right, about halfway across the room. A few pillars stood between him and his best shot at freedom, just enough for him to dive and grab some cover, but it would be risky. Peter glanced at his shadow.

He ran.

He only made it past two pillars when his senses spiked. He dropped into a crouch on instinct, flinching as the pillar beside was slashed, a slice of beating wind rushing over him. He squinted up to see the vulture's wingsuit, turning around at the wall and circling the room once before coming back to Peter. He moved to run, but the suit had already caught up with the gasping teen, blocking his path and knocking him to the ground.

Footsteps echoed lightly as Peter tried to scramble back to his feet, only managing to push himself onto his elbows until there was the click of a gun. He turned, glaring up at the vulture guy, a pistol in hand pointed barely a few feet from his head.

"Nice try, Pedro," the man said, pulling back a smile. He called, "Schultz!"

Shock gauntlet guy was back, one eye black and his gauntlet buzzing with power. It charged up with an electric whine, the man raised back his fist, and when it came down, Peter only knew two things. Pain and darkness.

  ---

Tony stared around the completely packed tower, only a few boxes left in his lab to be moved to the plane that would blend into the dark New York night in barely ten minutes. He sighed, tucking his hands in his pocket as he looked out the window over the city. The billionaire had never been known for his sentiment, but even he could say that this move held a lot of significance. And, not only that, but, out there in the dark city below, his little shadow remained.

He'd been reeling the past couple days from the incident at the ferry, about Peter's actions and his own. In the end, the kid was only a kid, one desperate to put some good in the world. He was smart and strong and everything Tony hadn't been, but then he thought of the people on that ferry. If one had died, and Peter had been the cause of it--well, it was easy to see the kid would have never recovered from that.

He needed time, and Tony needed time too. 'Forever' had been a little rash, but a week and a half didn't quite have the consequences the teenager needed to swallow. After returning from the dock, he'd placed the neatly folded suit into the nearest box and hadn't looked back. He assumed the suit was somewhere still in the empty lab, waiting to be unpacked and then eventually returned to the kid when Tony saw him on Friday.

He furrowed his brows, pulling out his phone. Maybe he should text Peter, or call him, and make sure he was okay. He hadn't really expected to hear from the kid in the past few days, but after seeing Peter's thin ribs and hearing that his foster father had taken his money, he was less than thrilled to leave him alone.

Glancing back at the boxes left, he moved to click on the kid's number. This wouldn't take too long, and they would be going in his car anyway. No plane required.

An echoed ringtone answered the stale night air before he could click call.

"What?" he muttered to himself, turning his phone off. He turned away from the window to stare at the leftover boxes. Hesitantly, he stepped over to them, opening the one where the ringing was loudest.

Peter's suit sat inside, twitching as it rang. He reached out his hand, grabbing the red fabric and pulling it out. It was folded crisply, the mask tucked away neatly between the cloth. He snagged it from beneath the fabric, surprised at the heaviness of it.

A badge, a card, and a ringing phone all tumbled out, clattering on the floor as the mask was upturned.

What the hell...?

He kneeled down beside the items, heart racing and picking up the still ringing phone displaying an unknown number. He snatched it up, answering the call immediately and pressing it up to his ear, picking up the other items left behind.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hmm, I expected a cute kid like Parker's soulmate to be nicer." Tony froze, motioning for Friday to begin tracking the call. "Then again, I knew what I was walking into ever since you pulled him out of that lake last week. You two should really be more careful about where you hold your conversations, y'know."

"Get to the point," he snapped. Out of the lake. Vulture Guy. He pulled up a separate hologram and began to search for what he'd previously left to the FBI. Pictures and shaky videos of the large metal wings appeared in front of him.

"Y'know," the man dawdled, ignoring Tony's demand. "I didn't quite believe the kid when he said you wouldn't pay a ransom. I mean, a billionaire for a soulmate and, with no hesitation, he just said it. But really, I get it now. I do."

"You don't get anything."

"I don't? Well, that's a surprise. I usually get things, and this one isn't very hard to tell. Kid hasn't looked at his shadow in two days."

Two...

"What the hell have you done to him?" he whispered, voice cold. He whirled around towards the screen that had the phone's location, brows furrowing when it wasn't any closer to finding out the source of the call.

"I've insured that business will continue to boom, Tony," the man answered easily. Tony took a seething breath, reigning himself in. Ransom. He'd said something about a ransom.

"What do you want?"

"Did you finish packing yet?"

Tony glanced at the boxes. "Yes."

"Good. That plane of yours is scheduled to take off soon. Let's make sure it stays that way."

"And Peter?"

"You get to come and get him."

"And if the plane doesn't stay on schedule?"

"You won't get the location in time. No more shadow for you."

Tony glanced down at the mask clutched in his hand and then at the shadow on the ground. It was pale in the dim room, hair curly and clothed in a baggy sweatshirt.

"I need proof that you have him," he demanded. There was ding. Drawing the phone away from his ear, he glared down at the photo. Peter was slumped against a cement pillar, chains wrapped tightly and thickly around him and the pillar. He was gagged and clearly passed out, a purple bruise forming around his eye. He still wore Tony's red hoodie.

"Did you get your proof?"

Tony swallowed. "Yep. Loud and clear."

"Great. When your plane leaves, I'll send you the location. As of now, you have half an hour."

"Until what?"

"I guess you'll find out."

And then the call disconnected.

"Shit!" he yelled, grabbing the suit and balling it up. "Friday, location."

"I was unable to trace the call, sir."

He rubbed at his face. "How long until wings up?"

"Ten minutes."

"Keep an eye out for an anonymous message. Notify me immediately. And how long would it take to get out a suit and reassemble it?"

"For the current Mark, anywhere between ten and fifteen minutes."

"That's too long," he muttered. Everything was taking too long. "Get my car ready downstairs. I want it waiting out front for me at a moment's notice."

"Of course, sir."

Panicking only slightly, he grabbed the last two boxes, piling them in his arms and rushing them to the elevator. The ride was quick, but it could have been quicker. When the doors slid open, he dashed out to where workers were piling the last of the tower's belongings into the open plane, Happy overseeing them all.

"All right, wheels up in eight minutes. We just got to load Tony’s old Hulkbuster armor, prototype for Cap’s new shield, and the Meging... the Meg... the... Thor’s magic belt," his friend called, catching sight of Tony, he paused. "And these two boxes. Hey, boss, what's up? You look like you're about to be sick."

"I need the plane going as quickly as possible. And I really mean as fast. As. Possible."

"Tony, what--"

"Just get it going," Tony snapped, making a note to apologize to his friend later. There wasn't any time to explain. Happy stared at him, and then nodded.

"Okay. Five minutes, it'll be in the air."

"Good. Thanks, Hap."

Tony left the boxes, keeping the suit and Peter's belongings with him and dashing back to the elevator. It took him to the empty bottom floor as quickly as possible, where he practically tore out through the doors and to where his car was waiting for him. The gas was already running as he slipped into it, pulling out his phone and waiting.

"How long since the timer started, Fri?"

"Seven minutes."

"The plane?"

"Taking off now."

Tony rolled down the window, poking his head out and squinting up. There was a distortion of movement, and then there was a buzz. He turned back into the car, glaring down at his phone to see an address in Brooklyn.

He floored on the gas.

"How far away is this?"

"Approximately twenty-eight minutes."

"How long we got?"

"Twenty-two."

"Great. Let's be there in twenty. Quickest route. I don't care how many laws we have to break to get there, got it? And trace the message's location, send it to Rhodes when you find it."

"Of course, sir."

Tony didn't know how many red lights he forced the car through, how many people he cut off and sped around, cutting every corner he could possibly find. It didn't feel fast enough. But nothing ever could. The only thing that went fast enough was the rapid pounding of his skittery heart.

How could he have been so stupid to leave Peter alone like that? To meet him and then drop him off like the drop of the hat. And to not even bring him home or make sure he wasn't injured. Or to even just have a reasonable conversation. It was despicable of Tony. And now Peter might die because of it. His little shadow.

While driving, he ordered for Friday to find Peter's missing person's report, his heart beating rapidly as he tried to piece together when the kid had been taken. Where? How far out had Tony been? Had they just been waiting for him to leave?

As it turned out, there wasn't one. Tony chewed his lip, pushing it to the back of his mind for now and just continuing to floor the pedal. One step at a time. He just had to get there before whatever was going to happen happened.

Tony ended up arriving in eighteen. He barely even parked the car, just ripped down the joystick and leaped out, running without any kind of hesitation into the dark warehouse.

  ---

When Peter blinked awake, it was to a constant ticking and the loss of his shadow. He panicked, struggling in an attempt to see what had guarded over him for so long. He needed it now more than ever. The chains he was trapped in rattled and clinked with his weak movements, and he winced at the pain around his eye and the soreness in his jaw. After a moment, he realized that it was the tight gag cutting into his cheeks so hard he was sure that there were cuts around the area.

A little more searching revealed to the trapped teenager that his shadow was still there, if a little faint. It stumped out in front of him, hard to make out, but Peter was grateful nonetheless. He knocked his head against the pillar, staring at the shadow in an attempt to force down the way his hairs were still raised on end.

He forced himself to tune into the ticking that was still happening, furrowing his brows and straining his ears. There was a lot of ticking actually. One in the pillar across to him, and the one across from him, and the ones line across the room...

The pillars were filled with bombs.

His breath caught.

Breathing was hard through the tight gag, but he managed to shudder in a few deep breaths, his whole body moving with the impossible action. After what felt like forever, he was a little more coherent, a little more able to comprehend his situation. Peter glanced away from his shadow, instead staring up to where the timer had been earlier. It was counting down quickly, now leaving him with five and a half minutes. The vulture guy hadn't said what was going to happen when that timer ran out, but, given the ticking bombs in the pillars, he had an idea.

The teenager began to struggle, trying desperately to get a good enough grip to pull his cuffs apart, but the chains kept his arms firmly strapped against his side. He let out a frustrated grunt after a minute of fruitless wrestling with the clinking metal, letting his head drop and blinking tiredly. Think, Parker, think.

"PETER!!"

Peter perked back up at the sound of his name, his eyes widening as he recognized the frantic voice echoing through the halls. Mr. Stark. What was Mr. Stark doing here? Is this what the vulture guy had meant?

Peter tried to shout back but, of course, the gag muffled his ability to speak. All that was choked out was a long grunt that barely made it past the room. He tried a few more times, rustling his chains as loud as possible to catch the man's attention. It apparently worked, because footsteps approached.

Mr. Stark burst through the door, frantic and wild eyes landing on Peter with a short gasp, but he never stopped running, sliding to a stop on his knees in front of the boy.

"Peter. Oh, my God, Peter, I am so sorry," the man apologized, his voice a whisper. Hands reached out towards his face. Peter couldn't help the way he flinched away, his head knocking against the pillar painfully, leaving splintered cracks in the cement. Mr. Stark paused, mumbling a horrified apology and glancing at his watch anxiously. "Okay, here's the deal. We're under a pretty strict time limit, okay? I just gotta get you out of here. Can I...can I take your gag off? Please?"

Peter hesitated, glancing at the clock behind Mr. Stark's head. Three and a half minutes.

Mr. Stark followed his gaze, glancing over his shoulder to catch sight of the ticking timer, his expression darkening. He turned back to Peter.

"Like I said, time limit. So, can I?"

After a moment, Peter nodded, leaning his head forward to let him grasp at the fabric. His instincts screamed to not give the man purchase to his hair, but Peter knew better. Not that he could stop the flinch when Mr. Stark's fingers brushed against the back of his head.

Mr. Stark reached forward immediately, untying the knot and pulling the gag away in a gentle manner, letting Peter finally take a deep breath. He moved his jaw, trying to undo some of the tension trapped there and wincing at the pain that dug into it. The billionaire moved onto working the chains, his watch turning into a bright red Iron Man gauntlet that began to power through the metal.

It was silent a moment before, "When did they get you?"

Peter swallowed, leaning his head back and shrugging. "After the uh--after the ferry. Cornered me in an alley probably half an hour after."

"I'm sorry, kid," Mr. Stark apologized, but Peter just shrugged again, staring pointedly forward. He kept a careful eye on the clock. Two and a half minutes, and the chains weren't looking good. He narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the watch. It didn't have a direct power source, and he very much doubted it would be able to break through all of his chains in time. He swallowed.

"It's okay. My fault anyways."

"No. This isn't--"

"It is, Mr. Stark," Peter protested. Mr. Stark stared at him, but he needed this off of his chest. This horrible guilt that he was he'd never get the chance to get rid of. And now might be his last opportunity. "I was the one who went after the vulture guy. Not even with good intentions. I just... I don't know. You're--you're Tony Stark, and having me for a soulmate seemed less than thrilling to you. I just wanted to prove that I was worthy to be your shadow. And I didn't. And I'm sorry. And...and I get why you didn't want to talk to me again."

"Peter--"

"Just go, Mr. Stark."

"What? No! I will not leave you--"

"The clock, Mr. Stark." They both turned to look at it. "Less than a minute. You won't get me free in time."

"We don't even know what will happen! It could be a fluke for all we know," the man protested. Peter stared at him, unable to keep himself from trembling in fear, gesturing towards the nearest pillar with a nod of his head. His voice was a quaking whisper.

"These all have bombs in them. Every single one, except for the one I'm tied against. You won't make it if you stay here."

Mr. Stark stared at him, his gaze hard, still blazing through the chains. None had been completely broken yet, but they were beginning to turn orangey-red. There was a frightening resolution in his stare, and Peter did his best to return it despite how much he was blinking back horribly frustrated tears. He forced his gaze away, checking the timer once more. Twenty seconds.

"Please, Mr. Stark. You need to go."

"I'm not leaving you," the man said. The chains were getting redder, Peter could probably tear at them soon, but not soon enough. He continued straining anyway, grunting as the metal resisted against him. "We're going to have a much longer talk later, kid, but I don't want you to think for a second that I don't want you as my soulmate. You're a good kid, with a good heart. There is nothing to prove. Absolutely nothing."

Peter glanced at him from where he was straining, surprised at the wetness swimming in the man's eyes.

The chains snapped, falling around Peter in a metal heap. The timer beeped.

The thundering of booms crowded Peter, going off around the room in a sporadic circle. Mr. Stark's arms wrapped around him immediately, a protective body shielding him against what Peter had honestly expected to be a bigger explosion. Instead, they were small, knocking out the middle of the pillars so quickly that trying to follow them made his head spin. He figured out what was happening just a second too late.

Working against the instinct to curl himself into a protective huddle underneath his soulmate, safe from the crowding dust and explosions that shattered through the air so hard that he could feel the vibrations underneath the man's arms, the teenager broke free of his hold. The ceiling crumbled down as quickly as he moved, forcing Mr. Stark to the ground as far away as he could reach and piling himself in between.

No amount of bracing himself could have prepared Peter for the pain.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[twistedsinews]

Our Jagged Fragments of Mind and Soul

Cyberpunk 2077; Jackie/V/Misty, Vik; PG-13 (AO3 Flavor)

Rain poured down the street, cascading over the pavement.

The door was open, as it nearly always was. As it was meant to be. Frozen in another time and shivering, he stared at the sign above it, as rainwater caught in his hair and in his eyelashes.

An aura of peace radiated past the threshold. It settled over him like a shroud once he got the nerve to step through it. A heady incense was burning in one of the braziers, drifting to the ceiling and making his nose itch. Knickknacks and figurines – symbols of protection, of good fortune, of peace – stared down at him as he passed under their gaze, keeping watch or making judgment and keeping it amongst themselves one way or the other.

Engrossed in a world all her own, Misty was pulling cards at the counter. Her eyebrows knit together, and her mouth was set in a mystified little pout at whatever they were telling her.

Thinking of her made his heart ache.

Seeing her made it bleed.

She tapped the edge of the card pinched between her fingers against one on the counter, and raised her head at last. The movement of her hand stilled, and her mouth fell open as wide as her eyes.

Jackie smiled.

Or tried to.

It may have come out all wrong.

Misty didn’t notice. Or she didn’t care, if she did. The deck fell from her hand, half scattering over the counter, as she darted around it to meet him, practically falling into him as he swept her into his arms. He crushed her to him tight, maybe even too tight, but he couldn’t tell and she didn’t complain.

She pulled away to look at him, and her mouth moved over words she couldn’t quite choke out, but he caught the How? and What? on her lips clearly, only he didn’t have much of an answer to give. She puzzled over his appearance, his clothes, his being here now in front of her; she cupped his face in her hands, as though touching was believing, and ran her fingers through his two months growth of sodden hair.

He held her hand to his mouth, and tried again to smile.

Breaking from her gaze, he cast a meaningful look around the store, and once more met her eyes.

“V?”

The question brought her back down to Earth; the light in her eyes dimmed. Misty glanced away, and gave a subtle shake of her head. It wasn’t quite denial but wasn’t at all encouraging, and it only served to feed the thing gnawing on his stomach lining.

“She’s not here right now.” Taking his hand, she led him to one of the chairs she had set in the back, coaxing him to sit down and kneeling down beside him. “Let’s... focus on what you need for now, okay?”

Jackie swallowed.

And nodded.

Squeezing her hand, he lifted it to the port on the back of his neck, pressing her fingers against the empty gap. Misty’s eyes widened, and he let her hand drop. It landed on his shoulder.

“Need to talk to Vik. Everything... I’m all out of sorts.”

She nodded. “Okay, well... he’s with someone right now, but he should be free in just a little bit, alright?”

Jackie mouthed a little yeah, in agreement.

“Alright. Just a little bit longer.”

His shoulders slumped as he settled in to wait, and she wrapped her hand over the back of his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Curled up together, wisely out of the rain, two cats kept watch from the altar, eyes reflecting the light as they tracked him. At length, one stepped out of the basket and stretched, and hopped down onto the arm of Jackie’s chair to investigate.

Before long, a lone edgerunner stepped out of the back room. She regarded them coolly, and nodding once in silent greeting on her way out through the shop.

For all the Jackie knew the way, Misty still led him by the hand out the back, and down the steps. The drizzle caught in her hair and in her sweater, but she never had minded the rain. She brushed the droplets out of her eyes, smudging her makeup as they stepped though the basement door to the security gate.

Vik was orating notes when he noticed them, Misty at first, and trailing off into stunned silence when Jackie stepped into the light.

Behind his glasses, his eyes flicked between them. Tentatively – stepping closer, eyes locked on Jackie’s face like he might vanish, or become someone new – Vik reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

“...Jackie?”

“¿Qué tal, señor?”

Vik’s hand skimmed down his arm. He gave Jackie a once-over, looked at Misty again, then back to his face.

“It’s him.”

Misty’s voice was small, but confident.

Like there was ever any doubt.

And maybe there was. Or should have been.

Vik certainly seemed less sure.

“Need a new deck,” Jackie rasped. “They ripped it...”

His voice cracked, and caught in his throat. He glanced at Misty, who still held on to his arm, and back to Vik.

Vik gave a slow, understanding nod.

“Also need’a make sure I’m not being tracked.”

“Yeah, sure...” he agreed, finally remembering to turn off his recording. “We’ll get you all set up, run a full diagnostic – the works. Misty, you think you could go upstairs and keep an eye out?”

At first her lips pressed together thinly, and she looked like she might protest. Then she gave Jackie’s arm a firm little hug, and he reached to catch her hand and squeeze her fingers before she moved too far away from him and let go.

She took her time making her way across the floor, and paused at the gate to look back before disappearing around the corner, the door creaking open and soundly closed a moment later.

Gesturing towards his workspace, Vik intoned, “Chair, please.”

Jackie dutifully followed through as instructed. Dragging himself up into the chair, he eased back against it. The chair could hardly be deemed comfortable, but the familiarity of it was a comfort.

“And... plug in?”

He jacked in to the array, and felt the electrical buzz of a connection as the diagnostic software started with a shallow scan of his system.

His cyberdeck would’ve been feeding him information all about it.

If he still had one.

Vik disappeared behind the stack of equipment, and Jackie could hear him rummaging through his stock somewhere nearby. He reappeared soon enough with a small metal case in his hands, the device within smaller than a shard but similarly shaped and vastly more powerful.

“A Raven Microcyber,” Vik introduced it to him. “Impressive little piece. Oughta at least get you back on your feet. I think it might even be brand new.”

“Know I ain’t got cash, right?” Jackie warned. “Can’t know I’ll ever be able to pay you back, way things are.”

“We can argue about eddies later. Right now I want to be certain that everything is in working order and you’re not going to collapse in the next five minutes.”

“And anyway,” Vik added, “V donated this one. As I recall, she... found it, in a drawer somewhere. That seems like an even trade to me.”

The question bubbled up within him, but before he could force it past his tongue, Vik had tilted his head to one side and forward to access his port. Jackie felt, rather than heard, the sharp little click of the deck sliding into place.

All at once, every implant in his body started to synch up properly. Vik let his head fell back against the chair.

Groaning deeply, Jackie scrubbed his face with his hands.

“That good, huh?”

“That is so much fuckin’ better, you would not even believe.”

Vik chuckled.

“¡Dios del cielo!”

“It should have your usual suite of basic functions pre-installed. And I still have your profile in the system, so we can make sure all your firmware gets installed and is up to date.”

“Mmmph.”

Giving his arm a pat, Vik moved to step away. “You’re welcome.”

Jackie stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, watching the data feed scroll down his display. Updates and diagnostics.

The silence crept into him, like darkness eating at the roots of his soul.

“They ripped me out of my head, Vik.”

He draped an arm over his eyes.

“Thought it was over; thought I was dead and then...” He didn’t even know how to describe that part. “And then... they shoved me back in. Made me go through all these... tests. Evaluations? Guess I didn’t pass, ‘cause they ripped me out again. And again after that. Over and over and fucking over, I thought I was gonna crack.”

“I guess we’re talking Arasaka?” Vik asked. “How did you get back here? I can’t imagine they decided to let you walk free.”

“Eh, you know how it is,” Jackie lifted his arm to look at him, and forced a smile. “They underestimated me.”

Vik smiled back, a gentleness in his voice that Jackie wasn’t accustomed to, “Can’t say they’re the only ones who did that.”

While he was there, Vik turned his attention to the readout.

Jackie watched the reflection of the data that scrolled down his sunglasses.

“Hey, Vik?”

“Mhhm?”

“Where’s V?”

The question caught Vik off guard. He glanced down at Jackie, frowning.

“Misty wouldn’t tell me, now you too, huh? Getting me kinda worried here.”

Like they didn’t think he’d even ask.

“At least tell me she got out. She did get out, right? She made it?”

“That is... a complicated story, Jackie.”

“Complicated, how?” Jackie waved at the apparatus he was still connected to by his wire. “This seems like it might still be taking a while; you got my total and undivided attention.

Crossing his arms, Vik studied his screen.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked. “Before...”

He struggled with the phrasing, prompting Jackie to scoff.

“Before Arasaka?” He prodded. “Before dying, you mean.”

He breathed out a long, even breath.

“Last thing I remember is V,” he said. “For a while there, it hurt like hell. Then it didn’t hurt so much anymore at all, I just felt... cold. And tired, like... exhausted. And there was V, and she was... hurt. I mean, we were both banged up, but that’s not what I mean, she was... she was...”

She was.

Vik was staring at the floor.

“V... took your death hard.” He shrugged. “I’ll admit, we all did. But V... she blamed herself. She felt she’d let you down.”

“She didn’t let me down.”

“That’s not how she saw it.”

“I didn’t want to leave her there all alone. Not that I wanted to leave her at all, but especially not like that. Just... It wasn’t really my choice, you know?”

“You didn’t let her down, either.”

Jackie only realized he was leaning half off the table when Vik calmly reached over to push him right back onto it, pressing him down by his shoulder.

“Hey, at least tell me she’s alive.”

Vik’s expression softened.

“She’s alive, Jack. Last I saw her. If you want to know where she is, I don’t have that answer.”

“I gotta find her. After this.”

Jackie fidgeted.

The doctor didn’t argue.

He did, however, completely change the subject.

“I can’t honestly say you’re as healthy as you were six months ago, but you’re certainly healthier than you were two months ago when I pulled you out of the back of an armored cab.” He gave the readout a discerning stare, and asked, “How long did you spend on the street before you came here?”

“‘Bout three days, I think? ...maybe longer? I... I didn’t wanna lead them right to you, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“My setup didn’t find any tracing bugs,” Vik assured him. “But you’re dehydrated. You need rest and you could definitely use some nutrition. Go ahead and unplug.” Jackie pulled his link cable free. Standing up as Vik shut everything down, he stretched.

Everything felt so much better.

“My recommendation is that you go upstairs, eat something and get some sleep. Tell Misty she can take the rest of the day off.”

“Sounds like my kind of prescription,” Jackie remarked.

He tagged his phone, only to find it completely blank. Which shouldn’t have been a complete surprise, but for a moment he’d forgotten.

“Ah,” he told Vik, as he was herded towards the security door. “Trouble authenticating my phone account. You got one I can borrow? I need to call my mother, let her know I’m okay.” Then he stopped. “Fuck, what am I saying? I can’t just call her up, ¡Eh, Ma, sorpresa para ti – no estoy muerto! she’ll have a fucking heart attack. I need to get down there and see her in person.”

“I’ll bring you down to see her myself. We can go tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Mañana, you’ll bring me.”

“I will.”

“¿Juras?”

“I swear.”

“And when you gonna tell me what happened with V?”

Vik sighed.

“What happened with V is that your dying was just the start, and that Relic the two of you made off with caused a whole lot more trouble down the road. I promise I will tell you everything once you’ve gotten some rest. Tomorrow – I am going to have Misty clear my schedule – I will tell you everything that happened with V, I will personally bring you home to see your mother, we can go and find a place that sells old fashioned ice cream if you’d like, my treat, but right now-....”

“Gonna hold you to that last one, Vik.”

“-...right now, I want you to take it easy for a few hours, and get some food and hydration in your system.”

Before he could step out the door, Vik tugged him backwards.

“Wait, hold on a sec.”

Jackie watched him, blankly, as he strode straight back into the space that was vaguely defined as his office, and came striding straight back out again.

“Always helps to have a little cash in your pocket at times like these.”

Vik shoved the money into his hand before Jackie realized what it was. Jackie balked, trying to hand it back.

“I can’t take this.”

“In case for any reason you need it before tomorrow,”

“Vik, I can’t take this.”

“Or in case anything else happens before then...”

“This is-...”

“Take the Goddamn money before I go up there myself and inform Misty that bedrest includes from bedroom activity.”

Jackie’s fingers closed around the bills with a subtle crunch.

Something else cracked, deep inside.

Reality setting in, maybe.

With a shuddery little breath, Jackie pulled Vik into his arms. Vik hmphed, and hugged him back, but Jackie didn’t want to let go. Didn’t feel like he could. It was everything of the past few months, pain, elation, despair, hope, sinking into his bones all at once.

He held on.

And Vik, being Vik, let him.

For as long as he needed it.

Eventually, his mind grew calm again and breathing steadied. Only then, and finally he could let go.

And when he did, Vik slapped his shoulder, and pointed to the door.

“Out.”

“Tch.”

“Tch, yourself, hermano.”

~*~

Jackie sat on the roof, mulling it all over.

Watching the sky grow pale and colorful, and the colors mix with the leftover rainwater.

Watercolor.

Taking it in, one breath at a time.

Misty appeared in the shadows. Or maybe she was there the whole time. She smiled when he noticed her, and stepped out onto the deck. Passing by the other chair with water in it, she came around to crouch beside him, folding her arms over the chair arm and resting her head on them as she stared off into the city skyline.

Jackie didn’t smile.

Oh he could have.

But he didn’t want to force it.

“So, uh... finally got hooked back into my phone account.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“V... she left about an hour’s worth of messages. Still haven’t gotten through ‘em all.”

Misty didn’t say anything. But her gaze was drawn from the sky to him. She reached over the arm of the chair for his hand where it rested in his lap, and gently squeezed his fingers.

“She’s out there somewhere, all alone....”

V had never been any good at all alone.

“I gotta find her, Misty.”

“I know.”

At that, Jackie did smile.

He bopped her third eye with his thumb.

“Yeah, you always know.”